Blind Leading The Blind
by GratuitousViolets
Summary: An Outraged Remy is blinded by one of Cyclops optic blasts and is forced to live with the X-Men while Professor X tries to find a way to restore his vision. One girl has the experience of living with a blind person - but can she help Remy?
1. Part 1

**Blind Leading the Blind**

**Part 1**

**In the Dark**

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_Authors Note: This story is nothing to do with my previous work Derranged Marriage. _

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Blind was such an _ugly _word, he thought. He'd never considered it to be so before, it had just been a random word that people used to refer to being ignorant. 'Fool, you're blind'. Yes, that was the only instance he'd ever used _blind._

Now, blind was a dirty word, a hideously filthy word that he had never wanted to hear again, a single syllable term that came to him as a diagnosis, not an insult. _You're blind. Your eyesight is __**completely**__gone._

He sat listening to the silence, it was palpable, like none he'd ever heard before. He could hear the breathing, the noise of clothes with the move of each limb, the ticking of a clock, the hum of an electric fan, the sputtering of an air conditioning unit somewhere to the back of the room. Would he have _noticed_ those before? Was this his body adjusting?

_Just the consolation prize, sorry you lost your sight, __**Gambit ,**__but here...have some slightly heightened senses to tide you over. _

No...he was positive he would have not heard the sounds so intense had he been able to see the room around him. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know who was even standing nearby, although the smell of sickly sweet cologne hung in the air enough to tell him that whoever it was, happened to be male.

His eyes hurt, he was fully aware of the pain, as if someone had punched both of them with a closed fist that had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. It burned and throbbed and pinched all at the same time while he was left in a perpetual blackness that almost seemed as if someone might have just switched off a light.

Except the lights were probably on...as far as he could tell.

And...this most likely wasn't as simple as switching the light on again.

He felt strangely off kilter, as if the left side of his body might have weighed more than the right. What an odd feeling...or was that just the painkiller someone had administered? Had it been the _Beast_ who had administered the drug? When his sleeve had been rolled up for a moment he'd felt the brush of something that reminded him of a sheepskin rug he'd used to play on as a boy – the one he'd use to drive his toy soldiers through pretending it was a snowy landscape back before he'd ever seen snow with his own two eyes.

Remy LeBeau should have been panicking, he should have been yelling or screaming or responding with anything other than the thought; _will I ever see snow again_?

Someone in the room shifted position, the sound of hard tile floor beneath a dull perhaps well worn heel.

"Gambit?"

He reached out, catching something cold, smooth and springy beneath his long fingers. _Leather_. _This is leather..._

It was a shoulder, he ran his hand down the material, gripping a slim arm; he heard the breath of the person before him change, they gripped his arm back gently.

"Do you have any perception of light?" they asked.

_Jean Grey,_ he recognised the voice instantly. He hadn't spent enough time with the X-Men to know most of them on a first name basis, but he knew their voices._ A thief listens, a thief pays attention,_ he thought dully as he squeezed Jean's arm.

"No...it's black. Jus' black..." he swallowed, there was a lump in his throat, and he wasn't sure if it accompanied anger or sadness...his feelings were so mixed with confusion and panic. How would he _survive_ if he couldn't _see?_ Was that the end of his adventuring, of his _life_?

He wondered if Cyclops were nearby; at that moment in time as he stared into a never ending void, he'd have loved to have gripped onto the throat of the boy and choke him until death. He let out a deep sigh that felt scratchy in his throat, more like a wheeze. The fumes from the fire at the chemical plant had sunk deep into his chest, he felt his lungs rattle with every intake of breath as if something might be loose in there, spinning around like a bingo ball in a barrel at a church fête.

"You sense no light at all?" queried a voice, slightly harsher, full of Ivy League snobbery yet with low notes of sympathy...understanding...or was that just what Remy _wanted_ to hear? This was Professor Charles Xavier's voice...of that he was certain. He'd heard it time and time again when been a spy for Magneto and Mystique...he'd heard the lengthy and long-winded speeches the man gave regarding mutant affairs on news channels.

"Nothing...jus' darkness," Remy replied to the question.

Jean left him; he sensed her presence nearby, her hovering somewhere to his left, someone else replaced her in front of him, he felt something brush his knee and tried not to jump in response having not expected this.

He shifted uncomfortably where he was sitting; a bed? A chair? He let his hand brush against the surface of it, the smooth cold surface slick beneath his fingers, spongy beneath. An examination couch perhaps? Was he at a hospital...in a doctors office?

A click, click, clickity click, more shifting around. Delicate fingers prying around his tender throbbing eyelids; the area was far too sensitive for this and he flinched, swatting the hand off clumsily. "Stop _that_!" he warned in a pained hiss.

"I'm sorry," apologised the Professor. "It seems as if the blast has severely damaged your corneas _and _the optic nerve in both eyes..."

Optic nerve. What _were_the optic nerves again? Which part of the eye was that? And what about the cornea? He supposed he should have spent more time going to school and paying attention in biology perhaps, and probably spent much less time pickpocketing and not going to school at all.

"What that mean?" Remy breathed, he gripped the knees of his pants anxious. "Will it fix itself?"

A pause; Remy hated it when people paused in this way. If the Professor had to pause to consider his response, then the answer wasn't a positive answer...quite the opposite, probably.

"There have been miraculous new techniques discovered that can _repair_ the damage. To what extent, I'm unsure. It may be possible you will regain some sight back..."

"Some?" Remy asked in disbelief, he held onto the material of his pants so tightly that his knuckles cracked loudly, and it caused pain to dance across his fingers.

"I'll make some calls, try to gain some more information," came the other voice, undoubtedly The _Beast_.

"Try? Y' better do a little better than _try_!" Remy retorted. "It 'cause of your _X-Men_ that I can't see a t'ing right now!"

"Pipe down, Gambit," came a grunt. Wolverine...he was there too. Remy wondered how many more of them were there, were they all standing watching him as if he were a prize exhibit? A novelty? "If ya hadn't been at that chemical factory, then ya wouldn't have got caught in Cyclops blast."

"I thought y'all were supposed to be _smart,_" grumbled Remy, he felt his jaw tighten, "what kind of _smart _mutant with the power to shoot firebeams out of his eyes takes a shot in a _chemical _factory t' begin with?"

Jean spoke up, "Scott is a good aim...I saw what happened, Gambit, you tried to duck it and got caught in the face..."

"I _know_ what happened, _red_," uttered Remy in a cold voice. "I was _there_, I _felt _it. I'm _still_ feelin' it."

"I thought ya were quick," came Wolverine's observation.

"I had t' duck; the vials I had in my hand woulda exploded if _one-eye_ had hit anywhere near 'em in motion...and t' be honest, I quite like having my right hand...it's my favourite. It's part o' a matching _set_."

"Ya shouldn't have _been_ there," Wolverine growled; he felt the man's close proximity, smelt the cigar smoke and sweat from him.

Professor Xavier cleared his throat, Wolverine must have backed off because suddenly the smell seemed to almost vanish immediately. "What _were_ you doing there, Gambit?"

"Working. Rent is hard t' make when y' don't have any cash t' pay it with."

"Who were you working for?"

The Professor's question should have been expected, and yet somehow, Remy hadn't expected he would have to explain this right now while he sat there with the ultimate possibility he may never see ever again. He closed his mouth, he turned his head away, hoping that he was pointing away from the Professor's direction.

"He won't tell you," Wolverine said after a moment, he sounded almost amused. "Thieves have honour, apparently."

Remy spoke up, "rule number two; y' never reveal who a client is."

"What's rule number one?" Jean asked in wonderment.

With a sigh, Remy frowned. The answer was kind of ironic, really. "Never get caught."

* * *

When Rogue arrived home from school a little later due to having taken a detour to the music store for a new CD release, she was surprised to find herself being summoned straight to the Professor's office on the first floor. The telepathic request came the instant she had come through the front door and she rolled her eyes wishing the Professor could have at least given her a moment to put her bag away before demanding she come to see him.

She let her bag hang on the newel post at the bottom of the stairway, and made her way through the winding corridors to the Professor's office at the back of the mansion. She did not knock, she simply entered, swinging the door closed behind her.

The Professor sat behind his large mahogany desk, a stack of medical journals near his left arm. There were more in a cardboard box in the floor. It had been a while since Rogue had seen him leafing through medical journals, she wasn't sure what it indicated though.

"Rogue, there was an incident today," said the Professor, his eyes raised to her, they were piercingly blue and intense as always; she always found it hard to stare at his eyes for any length of time without feeling read, even if he hadn't telepathically invaded her thoughts.

"Oh?" she asked, she let her backside rest against the wall and folded her arms, "what's up?"

"Your friend _Gambit_ was caught today at the Bayville chemical plant."

Rogue stared at the Professor all too knowing. This made sense; she'd been in the school cafeteria when a news report had come on a student's radio about an explosion at the Bayville chemical plant. No one had been killed, but mutant involvement was suspected. It even been on the front of an evening edition newspaper on a news stand she'd passed on the way home.

"You expected this?"

"Ah heard on the radio durin' lunch," Rogue pushed herself away from the wall. Admittedly she hadn't expected that Gambit would have any involvement whatsoever. It surprised her, even, that he bad been back in Bayville. She'd assumed he'd decided to stay in New Orleans after their last encounter. "So he caused it?"

"In a manner of speaking," said the Professor. "He and Cyclops got into a brawl, a few vials of chemicals were dropped and caused a small explosion and the fire spread; luckily the sprinkler system kicked in before it could spread to the rest of the plant and the more volatile chemicals...the toxic fumes released would have been deadly."

"Ah," said Rogue, she stood at the other side of the desk, looking at the Professor, she wasn't sure why it was necessary that she be informed of this...what had the Professor said? Her _friend_? "Actually...y'know, he's not my _friend,_" she corrected, perhaps a little too late now. "Ah just _helped_ him once, is all," she shrugged.

"In any case, friend or not, I require your help taking care of him for the moment."

"Taking _care?_" asked Rogue, now she was mystified. Had Gambit been _hurt?_ Had he been severely injured and hospitalized to a bed in the sick bay downstairs? "What _happened_ to him?"

The Professor gave a sigh, "He tried to dodge one of Cyclops blasts and was hit directly in the face; his eyes have been damaged."

"Damaged..." repeated Rogue, she scratched her arm absently.

"Severely. He's been blinded...perhaps irreversibly...but it is too soon to say."

Rogue was speechless now, she simply stood, scratching her imaginary itch because she couldn't find anything to add to the conversation. She was unsure if she was allowed to feel sympathy for him or not – after all, he was still technically _the enemy_.

"You've had experience living and helping care for a blind person," the Professor said suddenly, as if to answer the question that she hadn't even spoken yet.

This was true, Rogue had helped care for Irene Adler, the blind woman who had helped raise her before her powers had manifested. Memories of applying Braille labels to jars, reading the newspaper and the dozens of other things she'd had to do for Irene came flooding back in an instant...things she'd almost forgotten about thanks to her new life in Bayville.

"What do you want me to do?" Rogue asked.

"Be his eyes – at least for now."

"He's _staying_ here?"

"Until we help him regain his sight, we will need to be responsible for him. Whether or not he should have been at that Chemical plant is neither here nor there; the fact is that he was injured directly because of our interference, and therefore...we should help him in whatever way we can."

"Wouldn't a _hospital_ be better?"

"A hospital would be the worst place for him...he wouldn't be treated with quite the same _caring_ and _considerate _attitude that should be shown to him."

"Caring and considerate?" Rogue almost laughed aloud that she should be expected to be kind to Gambit just because he'd lost his sight through an accident that had been partly his own fault, "that's a stretch...I can be _not _mean to him..."

"As long as you _help_ him, and be congenial," Professor Xavier frowned just a little, his blue eyes squinting.

"Ah'm guessin'..he doesn't wanna go back home to The Big Easy, either," Rogue supposed.

"I broached the subject with him earlier today," the Professor answered, "without giving too much of an explanation, he told me he and his father are...estranged."

"He hates his daddy," Rogue nodded.

"In any case...Gambit is also nineteen, and I can't force him to go home. From what he told me, his father would have very little interest in his current condition and would provide very little care even if I _did _force him to return..."

"Yeah...from what Ah was told...that sounds pretty much right on the money," she agreed. She took a moment to think about the situation. "You sure he's not...pretendin' or something?"

The Professor raised an eyebrow at her, silly question really she realised.

She felt at least it necessary to explain why she'd suggested such a thing, "it's just...Ah've been inside his head and...Ah've spent time with him too...Ah know he can be...manipulative."

"Both Hank and myself gave him an examination...the damage is there. He's completely blind...no vision at all...no perception of light either."

Rogue hugged herself, she felt a chill sweep over her.

"He's very scared, Rogue. One need only look into his face to know he's very frightened and very angry..."

"Where is he?"

"In the white guest room."

"What do Ah...do with him?" it was a fair question. How _do_ you start teaching someone to survive after they've just gone blind – even if it is just temporary? She only helped Irene, she hadn't been there from the beginning...she wasn't sure where to begin with Remy.

"Help him...in any way he needs helping...Kurt will help with anything else that you cannot manage."

"Right..." Rogue sighed, "so...should Ah go see him now?"

"Yes, he may need help coming down to dinner."

* * *

He wasn't sure how the room looked; to be honest even if he'd _had _his sight, he probably would not have cared either...anywhere had to be an improvement from the apartment he'd been renting, and this smelled considerably better than the _just painted_ smell of an empty apartment in a new building.

It kept running through his mind that he didn't know what to do or how to handle this...he'd never equipped himself with the possibility that he could one day end up blind or disabled through his daredevil adventuring and overconfident carelessness. He'd always known he was _mortal_, and he'd certainly never considered himself _immortal_ like some of the more powerful mutants did, but he certainly hadn't expected that any minute he might be cut down in the prime of his life by a freak accident and left to be disabled for eternity.

Disabled? Was that really what this was? Or was this just a minor setback that he could overcome? He wasn't sure how to class it...an _inconvenience...agony...torture_...those words were pretty high up on the list. His eyes stung and felt oddly gritty when he moved them. The _Beast_ had applied dressings on each eye to keep out infection from the inflamed skin – although Remy wasn't able to see the extent of the damage himself he was told that some of the skin around his eyes was blistered and burned from the blast.

He wondered if he would ever _look_ like himself again after he'd healed, or if he would be deformed as well as permanently disabled.

A quick light step outside broke him from his misery momentarily, followed by the creak of a door, careful, quiet, and an unsure breath as whoever was there looked around the room.

They wouldn't see him, of course, and that had been the intention. He'd tripped over something – he was unsure what – and ended up on the floor an hour ago. He'd tried to get up and banged his head on something and felt around to find it was the bed. He'd crawled under it and curled up. If he couldn't see the world, he didn't feel much like letting the world see him.

"Gambit?"

That soft, vaguely husky Southern drawl...it might have been comforting if he wasn't so deeply annoyed and in excruciating pain. He heard Rogue crossing the room, a pause, a step, a pause, a step, the swinging of what might have been a closet door?

"Go away," he commanded miserably, his voice feeble and weak, he curled his arm across his tender throbbing face, he wondered if it was dark outside yet, he didn't even know what time it was any more. It could have still been broad daylight, or it might even be closer to nine.

There were so many things he realised he'd never be able to tell for himself...the time...whether it was due to rain...he'd never be able to tell if someone was looking him in the eyes or smirking at him. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly beneath the dressings, the pain was like white hot burning, as if someone had dripped acid into each eye in turn.

"What you doin' under the bed?" her voice was closer, he heard a soft thump-thump as she came down on her knees to his level.

He answered sincerely, "I can't see you, why should you get t' see me?" he rolled over awkwardly and hoped he'd rolled in the opposite direction away from her; he felt his shoulder hit the wooden slats supporting the mattress.

"C'mon, come out. Ah wanna talk to you."

"Go _away_," he said again. "I don' wanna talk to anyone."

"Stop feelin' sorry for yourself," Rogue tried.

"Sorry for myself?" he demanded, "in case y' hadn't heard, I have one-hundred-percent vision loss, and I can't even tell if it's night or day. Everythin' to me is as black as the cobs of hell!"

"I know, I'm sorry."

She didn't sound sorry though, and that stung perhaps just as much as the fiery sensation behind his eyes.

"Come out, though, we'll talk."

"I can talk fine from here," he grumbled.

"Fine," she uttered. He heard her shifting again, then he heard a slight creak and spring from above...she was on the bed.

He waited for her to be the first one to speak, but she didn't. He wasn't sure what to say to initiate this...all he wanted to do was yell at her and her friends for doing this to him...for making him blind. Whether he was partly to blame for having been there to begin with or not, he didn't care. This was still _their_ fault. "Well?" he spat.

"Your life _isn't_ over just 'cause you can't see...and besides...the Professor seems to think you'll get _some_ vision back."

"_Some_ vision," he repeated. "_Some._ Not all of it, chere. _Some._ I could be like this for th' rest o' my life."

"But you _won't_ be. The Professor will do all he _can_ to help...he knows some of the _best_ doctors in the world...he'll find someone who can help you."

Remy had no response to this, he didn't believe it to be possible; the X-Men had bigger and better things to concern themselves with other than helping him gain his sight back. "Y'know what _kills_ me about this, chere," he uttered, "I'm _stuck_ here. I'm like a blind trapped mouse dropped into a maze...I can't just _walk_ out of here, your _Professor _won't let me."

"Where would you go? What would you do? Go back to your daddy?"

"Never," he answered; the thought was far from his mind. There was no chance he was going back there again, he'd had enough of his father's dictatorship and schemes. He'd already gone over the possibility with the Professor and had come to the conclusion going home would be a bad idea.

"Would they help you if you _did_ go back?" Rogue asked curiously; Remy heard a distinct scratching sound, she was clawing at a limb or her face, he was sure.

"Probably not...I be pretty much useless t' them in this condition," he answered truthfully. He rolled onto his back and stared up into the endless black, his eyes still gritty and on fire. "I'm useless t' everyone now. No one gon' wanna help me."

Her voice was tiny when she spoke, but he heard it all the same...her voice was all he could pick out in the darkness, the only thing he could cling to in that despairing moment. "That's not true...I'll help you."

* * *

Eating dinner with no sight was like...that new craze of dining in the dark, but without the expensive food, the wine and a good looking date with a half-decent rack. He was led into his seat and waited on; he heard plates being put down in front of him onto the table, the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, the sounds of things being passed around.

He would have glanced down at his plate and probably wondered what it was even if he could see it. But being as it was, he saw nothing...and the smell of the food was non-descript. What was this that had been put down in front of him?

Remy felt around for a fork, his hand grazed someone's arm, he realised it to be Rogue and apologised, feeling annoyed that he couldn't seem to locate the silverware at all. He felt Rogue put it into his hand, her kid leather glove felt like baby skin against his fingertips.

The table buzzed as he was sure it always did, people talking – too many at once to listen in on their conversations. He heard words like 'training', and 'powers' and 'butterscotch'. He wondered if anyone might be staring at him, watching him like some kind of live entertainment.

He went at it like a butcher blindly stabbing to death his pray...he pushed the fork into whatever the meal was...soft...squidgy...somewhat heavy...he put it to his mouth, the forkful being too big, spreading what felt like sauce upon the left side of his mouth.

Remy dropped the fork into the plate, "I can't _do _this," he said, he tried to get up and his front hit the table awkwardly, he felt Rogue quickly push down on his shoulders to stop him from leaving the table; he lowered himself back down and let out a discouraged sigh.

The Beast spoke up from somewhere at the table, it sounded as I it came from the far left. "Start slowly, Gambit. It will take time to adjust."

"I shouldn't _be needin' t' _adjust, I should be able t' _see,_" Remy pointed out bitterly.

"Maybe ya'd like one of the girls to feed ya with an aeroplane shaped spoon...sure we can find ya a little bib somewhere...then after your burping ya can have a nap," cracked Wolverine.

"Logan, please," came the voice of the Professor.

"Don't _baby_ him, Charles. Let him figure it out. He's a grown man, about, he'll figure it out for himself. He can throw tantrums all he wants and complain, but it won't make everythin' all better. He can either sit there and pout and starve, or he can get on with it. It's his call."

Remy inwardly sighed. He was right...of course. And somehow just that mockery made him feel better for all that it was worth. "Maybe I can borrow _your_ bib and aeroplane spoon, mon ami," he retorted suddenly. "Although I'm sorry I won't be able t' borrow your _rompers, _they be a tad too lil' for moi."

There was a laugh around the table that started with a faint nervous chortling from one or two students, and then soon become a joint effort of loud pleasant laughter that made him feel slightly better. He was sure he even heard Rogue give a distinct chuckle.

He felt confident enough now for at least one more try...his second forkful found his mouth this time; pasta of some sort, over-cooked (and therefore slightly slimy) pasta cooked in flour and milk with no flavouring at all...he supposed it would have to suffice...at least it wasn't a microwavable meal that tasted like sludge just like the ones he'd been surviving on for the past few weeks because of his sheer laziness to cook for himself.

After dinner had finished, he felt full, but not satisfied in the least; perhaps it might have been different had he been able to see his meal...perhaps it might have been more palatable and delicious had he been able to _see_ it was pasta in some kind of sauce rather than just having to rely on his sense of taste and smell. Or perhaps someone's cooking just really _had_ been that bad...

"C'mon, I'll take you upstairs," he heard Rogue offer, followed by the screech of her chair against a tile floor; Remy even heard the faint rustle of her clothes as she stood and wondered if he would have noticed this had he been able to physically see her. He felt her hand upon his elbow; a flood of embarrassment made his cheeks feel hot and this heart thump hard.

_This is humiliating,_ he thought as he let her lead him from the table; he wondered how many people had seen this display, his being led like a child from the table as if he hadn't been capable enough to get up and walk away. How many amused smiles or glances of sympathy would there be, that the confident and cocksure skilled Cajun thief, once an Acolyte, once a great fighter, was now a blind and helpless invalid being taken down the hallway by a girl three years his junior?

"Y'know what, I _can_ walk," he said, breaking his arm away from Rogue grasp; he walked ahead of her a little to try and get some distance.

"Wait, there's a-" he heard Rogue say, just before he walked into something quite solid, stomach first. He gasped and let out a huff, shuffling back a little to hold his stomach, he felt himself tumble backwards, his foot catching something in the process.

"Mind the-" he heard Rogue about to say, then he felt her try to catch him, and doing a very lousy job of it; his backside hit the floor with a soft thud, his hands felt the thick tight pile of a rug. He gathered this had been what she'd been trying to warn him about.

"You don't _know_ this place well enough to walk around without _someone_ to help," Rogue chided.

He fumed, "what d' ya expect me to do? Just let you lead me around like I can't take care of _myself_ any more?" he demanded, he felt instantly guilty for letting it come out as a yell rather than a comment. Her pause left him wondering if he'd hurt her with his reaction.

She exhaled something of a 'huh' before responding. "You _can't_ take care of yourself any more, at least not right _now_."

"I'm not an _invalid!_"

"You can't just get _blinded_ and expect to be able to do everything the same as you usually do."

"I'll get by," he said.

"Do you know how to get to your room from here?" Rogue asked, he heard her shift to his side, she reached for his hands and tried to help him up, he resisted, and got up himself instead.

Remy of course, had no answer. He'd just let her lead him down to dinner an hour ago, a walk through a dark tunnel, through dark rooms, to sit on a chair he could only feel at a table he couldn't see with food he couldn't taste very well. "No," he finally managed after taking a moment to calm himself.

"Of course you don't," Rogue spoke firmly, he felt she'd make a very good teacher...she sure was making him _feel_ like a child right now. "This is why the professor asked _me_ to help you, Gambit. To _learn_ these things, so you _can_ take care of yourself until your blindness is fixed."

He scoffed, "It _won't_ be fixed though."

Rogue ignored his pessimism. "Do you want to stand there and whine, or do you want me to _teach_ you how to do this?"

Was there an option? Was there an alternative? Probably not. He was stuck there...even if he got out he had very little chance of surviving without hurting himself.

"I shouldn't need t' learn _anyt'ing, _chere. I woke up this mornin' with _perfect_ eyesight. Now I can't see _anyt'ing_ at _all_. If your so-called _team-mate_ had been more _careful,_ I'd be at home, fine and dandy!"

"And if you'd _stayed_ at home, instead of going out there and tryin' to steal explosive chemicals, you'd _fine and dandy_, too," Rogue pointed out. "Don't try to pin this on _Cyclops_. If you hadn't been there, you wouldn't have been hurt. This was all _your_ fault."

Why did she sound so...defensive, he wondered. She sounded so...annoyed with the idea that the X-Men be blamed.

_No...not the __**X-Men**_**, **he realised. _Cyclops. She don't like the idea that he might be at fault here...so she tryin' to make it like I'm completely to blame..._

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised y' wanna defend him," Remy admitted bitterly, perhaps it was a little too quick to make such an accusation, but he couldn't seem to hold his tongue nor hide the anger in his tone.

She stalled, he heard her breathe but she didn't respond back right away...she was taken aback by what he'd said. "What are you _talkin'_ about?"

"You. Y' in _love_ with Cyclops...and that's why you'll defend him no matter what he does, right or _wrong_," Remy tried to walk, he put his hands in front of him and braced himself to bump into anything, he felt the solid thing he'd walked into only moments ago, he felt along it, finding it to be a post of some kind...the newel post of a stairway, perhaps?

"In _love_?" she demanded, as if the idea was preposterous. The tone of her voice, oh, how it had so quickly changed...he heard the lies there, hidden deeply against the drawl and swathed in anger. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that she _was _lying, all he understood was that he _was_ bothered by it. Perhaps it was just the blindness...being caught in the darkness...all he could do was _feel. _

"The way y' act 'round him...the way y' look at him..." Remy turned wondering if he were even pointed in her general direction, or if he was facing a completely different direction entirely. It was hard to be so insolent when you weren't conscious of direction any more. "I've _seen_ it..."

Seen...oh that word left a foul taste in his mouth. Would he ever _see_ again? Or would the word _seen_ forever more be in the past tense?

Rogue's voice was full of anger when she retorted this time, and she grabbed him hard by the elbow, he felt her fingers dig in to his sleeve and his flesh as if she were trying to leave dents in a blob of silly putty. "You don't know what you're talkin' about, swamp rat. Just get on up them stairs so _Ah _can finally get some peace tonight."

He was this time, more than happy to oblige.

* * *

Rogue rolled over and glanced at the clock; 3.34am and she was still awake. The room was too hot although generally this never bothered her, having lived most of her life in the deep South she'd worked up quite a tolerance to excessive temperatures. Outside, she heard the whisper of the wind and she got up from her comfortable bed to open the window, to gaze outside into the night, it being mostly far too dark to see anything past the lights positioned outside near the shrubs in the garden and the driveway.

The breeze from outside crept into the room, cooled her hot flesh and left her feeling slightly more calm. She'd been restless ever since arguing with Gambit in the hallway, and although she felt only somewhat guilty for not offering to help him any further once she'd shown him to his room, she felt more _angry_ than anything else that he had brought up things completely not relevant or true to the argument.

She'd never been _in love_ with Cyclops, and she found it completely childish that Gambit had decided to bring it up. What was more, she found it incredibly insulting that Gambit had insinuated that she would take sides because of it...as if she was incapable of finding fault where fault was to be appropriately found. It was more than insulting...it was downright hurtful.

Pacing the room in short, quiet steps, she considered the things she _should_ have said when the Cajun thief had made so bluntly an assumption. She should have denied it point blank, after all, it hadn't been true anyway, and if it had, she would have at least had the courage to admit it.

_Probably not,_ she realised, she sat upon the edge of her bed, hands in her lap. _Ah couldn't even __**tell**__Scott when Ah thought Ah liked him._

But this was all the past, now. Things had moved on...Scott Summers was dating Jean Grey, and Rogue had moved on too, she'd lost interest in the boy altogether now that his utmost priority (other than being the best X-Man he could be) was spending every waking moment with Jean.

Love was a tragic nonsense, it seemed it only ever led to hurt in the end and Rogue was certain sooner or later it would come to Jean and Scott.

Hunger suddenly gnawed at her belly; she'd eaten very little of what had been Kitty Pryde's macaroni and cheese – Kitty's cooking usually tasted bland or disgusting, and this had tilted more towards the bland end of the scale.

Rogue began to head downstairs intent on making it to the kitchen; a sandwich would hopefully taste better than dinner had and fill the void in her tummy. As she got to the bottom of the stairs, she heard a crash that nearly made her jump back up a step, her bare feet curling over the edge of the stair and her breath catching in her throat. She gripped the banister and listened for a moment, she heard more commotion, a thump.

She began to run towards the noise with her fists clenched, ready for anything; had someone broken a window? It had certainly sounded like glass breaking, landing upon tiles or wood. A light in the kitchen doorway shone through to the dimly lit hall and she rushed in, ready to pounce.

"_Freeze right there_!" she yelled.

What she found there was not what she had expected.

Remy LeBeau was kneeling upon the floor, holding his left wrist, trickles of blood sliding down over his fingers and dripped onto the dull beige tiles, landing beside the remains of what had once obviously been a drinking glass.

Her heart slowed a little from it's frantic state, there was no crisis here, no danger...just a broken glass upon a tile floor, and a bleeding nineteen year old.

"Gambit, what the-?" she asked, but the scene already really explained itself. Rogue took a quick glance around the kitchen, the table wasn't where it should have been – he'd obviously bumped into that – and the cabinet where the glasses were normally found was open, two glasses missing, one lying half intact on the counter below, and the other, on the floor in front of Gambit's knees in too many pieces to count, splattered with his fresh blood.

"I was tryin' t' get a drink, 'kay?" He said quickly, hostile.

"You're bleeding...let me see..."

"I'm fine!"

"Let me see!"

He let his hand open from his wound, it was just below the heel of his hand, where the wrist started; the moment the pressure was released, the blood seemed to sputter out as if it were a spilt hose in a garden. His taking his hand away had been a mistake; it poured down his arm in a wide red river coming from a deep from a messy looking wound on his wrist.

"Oh, geez!" she tried to avoid being splattered but she felt some of it splatter on her neck and cheek. She looked around helplessly for something to stem the bleeding...she saw a dish towel hanging on the handle of the fridge and she hurriedly grabbed it, not having time to ponder whether it was clean enough or not. She wrapped it hastily around his wrist and applied hard pressure while trying to fold the rest of it over to prevent it from bleeding out more.

"Is it bad?" he asked, he winced at the strength of her hand against his tender wound.

"Uhm...yeah..." she stood up, "get up..."

"How bad is it?"

"You're bleedin' bad...Ah think you've cut a vein..."

He said nothing as he let her help him up from the floor.

"Watch the glass!"

"I can't see shit!"

"We gotta get you down to the sick bay...I'll get Hank up..." she led him backwards to try and avoid him walking into the glass with his bare feet.

His expression was pained as he walked with her, "I knelt down to try to pick up what broke...I felt somet'ing go into my hand...I pulled it out..."

"It's not your hand, Gambit, it's your wrist...you could bleed to death!" Rogue admonished, leading him out into the main foyer; she yelled for Hank McCoy as loudly as she could. "What were you _thinkin'?_ Ah _told_ you that you wouldn't be able to _do things_ yourself, yet!"

"I was thirsty...was I supposed t' just lie in bed all night and die of dehydration?" he uttered, he gripped onto her shoulder.

"Then you _shoulda _yelled for _me,_" she chided him.

"I didn' wan' _wake_ anyone..." he responded. Rogue thought for a moment his admission was that he was thoughtful enough to not wake up students who would be getting up early for school, until she decided it was probably more likely he didn't want anyone leading him around and leaving him feeling even more humiliated.

"Rogue..." he groaned suddenly, his grip on her nightdress shoulder was somewhat weak.

She turned to examine his face after yelling for Hank again, he looked pale suddenly and quite queasy. His damaged eyes were hidden behind taped on dressings and he looked strangely clammy and pale in comparison to them. Her eyes shifted to look at the towel she was holding around his wrist; it was almost soaked through with his blood, her bare fingers were red, the liquid spilling between them to stain her bare knuckles and reveal the cracks of her slightly dry skin. "Oh, God..." she whispered.

"I don' feel so hot..." he said quietly, swaying a little. "Feel...weird..."

"Weird?"

"Unsteady...and cold..."

"Just hold onto me..." Rogue made a face in disgust at the thought of his blood on her hands. Just as she was in the middle of yelling for Hank a third time, she finally saw him. The blue furred Beast came to the top of the stairs looking dazed and confused wearing nothing but a pair of ridiculous looking Bermuda-style cropped pyjama bottoms. Rogue might have laughed had she not been so scared that Gambit may die right there on the spot.

"What is goi-" Hank cut himself off, seeing the dark red staining on the towel, "oh my..." he hopped over the banister and landed with a hard thump on his feet right beside the two young mutants, "what happened?"

"He cut himself on a piece of glass in the kitchen...I think it's sliced a vein," Rogue said, she tried to remain calm, confident; getting stressed out and crying in the middle of a crisis was not what was expected of anyone in the team.

"Keep holding onto that, don't let it go!" Hank instructed, "hard as you can now! Bring him to the sick bay! Don't run..." Hank said before he took off in a bound around a corner to where the sick bay was located at the back of the west wing of the mansion. Rogue realised he was off to get the supplies he needed while she carefully brought Remy to him. No running...even in a crisis...running could cause a fall...the cloth could come off of his wrist, he could bleed out more...he may have very little left and they didn't have a supply of blood in the mansion for a transfusion.

They entered the sick bay; a small but comfortable room with a single bed and necessary medical supplies in an accessible closet. Rogue led Gambit to the bed, "here...sit," she ordered calmly.

Gambit was unsure about sitting down, he felt anxiously for where he would land with his right hand while Rogue held up his left high. Weakly, he tried to lower it, but she forced it up again.

"No...above your heart," Rogue warned, "gotta keep it above your heart..."

Hank came over, a supply of bandages and swabs with him, surgical gloves and a smaller box. "Does the sight of blood bother you, Rogue?" he queried.

"No..." Rogue replied.

"Silly question, I suppose, under the circumstances," Hank rambled shaking his head as he handed her a large cotton swab, "When I instruct you, put this against the wound, hold it hard..." Hank explained.

"Is it still bleedin' bad?" Gambit asked feebly.

"Very much so...but try to relax...we'll have you fixed up soon..." Hank promised, he grabbed the edge of the bed sheet and tore it with his bare hands.

Rogue stared, "what are you-?"

"We need a tourniquet as soon as possible...I can stitch up the wound until we can get him to a hospital...he won't survive much longer with the amount of blood he's losing unless I can stop it first."

She watched with fascinated interest as she held onto the towel as tightly as she could while Hank wrapped the fabric tightly around Gambit's forearm, once, he used a pile of tongue depressors to knot the fabric around, then wrapped it again a second time and tied it tightly.

Gambit winced at the pain, he inclined his head towards Rogue and she looked at his face, the agony apparent there, the tears burning his already damaged eyes.

"Okay...get ready," Hank said, "let go and be prepared to use the swab..."

Rogue shakily let the towel fall from his wrist, the blood seeped out straight away, but this time did not spurt as she had expected. Still, on instruction, she placed the swab against his wrist and tried to mop up the rest of the blood as Gambit continued to hiss in pain.

"Don't you have something you can give him for the pain?" Rogue asked.

"Not if we're going to take him to a hospital...they'll give him something when we get him there," Hank replied, he was threading a suture needle. "This will have to do until we can get him to Bayville General," he explained, "okay...you can take your hand away now..."

Rogue tossed the bloody cotton into the waste basket, both hands were now sticky with blood, "I need to wash my hands..." she frowned.

Gambit reached out for her, "No...don't go...don't leave me..."

How could she after that?

* * *

**End of Part 1**

Thanks to Alex, who has always been my friend and confidant, and who has _always _encouraged me to upload my stories (no matter how lame they may be).

Happy New Year Everyone!


	2. Part 2

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 2**

**Stains**

* * *

The hospital had questions and Remy should have expected that. When you go into a hospital with a cut wrist, soaked in your own blood, there was always going to be questions. _How old are you? How did did you cut yourself? What did you cut yourself with? Have you ever cut yourself before? Are you suicidal? Do you ever hear voices or feel the inexplicable urge to harm yourself?_

He could feel the dressings taped to his eyes every time his eyes shifted painfully beneath his lids. He was glad of the dressing; the doctors wouldn't suspect him of being a mutant if they couldn't see his most physical mutant trait. He wondered how Hank was getting by with being a mutant in a hospital full of humans? Had he used that little device the Nightcrawler used to disguise himself at school? Was this why the doctor hadn't made a fuss about their arrival?

Remy thought it was odd that receiving the blood transfusion at Bayville General had made him feel even _worse_ than the blood loss had. He felt incredibly itchy, and his temperature seemed to keep shifting from hot to cold and had done so within half an hour after the procedure had begun. Unlike Hank's temporary stitches, the hospital's stitches were uncomfortable, and pulled and itched and made it impossible for him to rest as he'd been requested.

Remy could hear Hank speaking somewhere out of the room, the doctor's mumbles that made little to no sense. Words like _hypotension _and _dyspnea, _and _tachycardia_. Words that made Remy wish he had at least taken the time to watch a few episodes of _House _or _Grey's Anatomy,_ or maybe even the re-runs of _ER._

It wasn't until the word _overnight_ was used by the doctor in an emphatic tone that Remy finally understood _something_ at last.

_"I'm afraid we'll have to keep him overnight...for observation, you understand. Does he have any family or next of kin we should contact?"_

The thought of Jean-Luc LeBeau appearing at his bedside full of worry made Remy wince where he lay...not that it was very likely. The likelihood of Jean-Luc being worried at all was slim to nil; in fact the only thing Jean-Luc would be concerned over is whether Remy would ever see again or if he would be rendered utterly useless forever more. A son was only worthwhile to Jean-Luc as long as that son happened to have a use, and Remy had learned this long ago.

Remy wished Rogue had come to the hospital, it would have given him at least one more familiar voice in the darkness – at least one that he could _trust_ completely. And after she'd worked so swiftly to try to save his life – and as he understood it the blood he had lost _had_ meant fatality - he knew that he had every right to trust her now.

His stitches itched, but he refrained from scratching as he lay there, the feeling of loneliness washing over him. That was just one more thing that bothered him about the blindness the most, he supposed...that already it felt so...lonely. He felt trapped as if someone had tossed him into a box with no light, they were outside and he was in and it was practically suffocating. He could hear voices but couldn't read their faces...how would he ever know if someone was angry or sad...or if they smiled at him?

Would he ever see a smile again?

His thoughts shifted back to the room; he heard Hank speaking now.

"You've given him a blood transfusion. He'll be living in a house with two qualified Doctors," Hank was saying, "I don't see any requirement for him to stay in the hospital overnight. "

"Someone with this particular type of injury is _still_ at _risk,_ you understand," the doctor replied.

Remy frowned, "not suicidal _or _deaf," he called out to both of them.

"Remy," said the doctor. He hated that the doctor used his name this way...as if he _knew_ him, as if they were old poker buddies who'd known each other since kindergarten. This man had no _right_ to use his name in that way. "Your injury is questionable," said the doctor as he approached the bed, his shoes were slightly squeaky against the floor. "The angle the cut is at, the way the slice tapers..."

"Now, now," said Hank, "I saw the wound myself – you can clearly _see_ where the shard of the glass was embedded into his wrist. It's a _curved_ wound."

"I do not believe this was an accident; I see young kids all the time coming here with those kinds of wounds, Mr. McCoy."

"Doctor," corrected Hank irritably.

"Do I _look_ like I cut myself on a regular basis!" Remy demanded angrily.

"Until Remy sees our psychiatrist we cannot let him go."

Remy leaned up, "y' know what this all about? They wan' sponge more money out o' you, that all this be about," he said to Hank, he wondered if he were even leaning in his general direction.

"Fully aware of it," Hank replied, apparently in agreement.

"Far from the truth, _Dr._ McCoy. He has to be evaluated...any patient coming in with the _same _wounds would be treated the same. It's hospital policy."

Remy sat up, the pressure he put on his left hand to pull himself out of bed caused him pain in his newly stitched wound. "I'm not your prisoner," he said to the doctor, "I'm getting out of this place..." he felt around for the nearest table, his fingers trailed along a flat surface and found what felt like a paper cup.

"No!" he heard Hank warn, suddenly sounding quite concerned.

"Now either y' let me out without makin' a fuss..." Remy focused on the cup in his grasp, he felt it warm and tremble, all it would take was for a drop or for a quick toss for it to explode on impact from the charge of his kinetic powers. "Or _I'm _gon' have t' make one myself."

* * *

The textured ceramic tiles in the kitchen were stained. No matter how hard she scrubbed, no matter how much she soaked and brushed and disinfected, the now rusty-brownish stains would not lift from the tiles; it was if Remy LeBeau's blood had absorbed right in and forever become a part of the floor.

Rogue hadn't realised just how much blood had been lost until she'd retraced her steps back; the bed in the sick bay, splattered with it – the bloody dish towel still lay there on the bed, along with her own hand prints in Remy's blood. The cold white tiles of the floor had been splattered, and smeared in by footprints. And the varnished wooden floors in the hall, all splattered with trails that led the way to the kitchen, where a majority of it had been. She'd cleaned up as best she could, feeling it was not enough, and although she had to be getting up for school in barely two hours, clearing the bloody mess from sight of the young students who would wake up in a few more hours felt more of a priority than getting sleep did.

The faint buzzing of the Professor's electric wheelchair made her glance up from where she was kneeling, the hard-bristled scrubbing brush in her hand.

"You needn't do that," said the Professor softly, his slippers were on the wrong way and Rogue felt almost moved to let him know the fact, but she instead forced herself to ignore it...it was of little consequence when you couldn't feel your feet, she supposed.

"Someone has to," she replied with a sigh, "the other kids will be awake soon...Ah didn't want them seeing all the blood everywhere..."

He moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder; the one that wasn't stained with blood from Remy's touch. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Ah'm fine, just tired," she replied, she dipped the brush into the bucket of disinfected water and then pushed it back down into the tile.

"You don't _sound_ fine. You sound extremely upset."

"Ah said Ah'm _fine," _she remarked irritably, "this won't come up!"she lamented, she felt like crying and she threw the brush angrily at the wall where it bounced off and landed neatly into the sink.

"I'll have Ororo bleach it in the morning, you'll never know it was ever there," promised Professor Xavier.

Rogue shook her head stubbornly, she pursed her lips as she stared at the tile. "Ah_'ll_ know. Ah_'ll_ know it was there..." she stood up, the knees of her pyjamas were soaked, and her hands were sweaty beneath the rubber gloves she was wearing.

"You're in shock."

"It was like a _murder_ had taken place in here...all the blood...he could have _died_...and it would have been _my_ fault!" She peeled the rubber gloves off and tossed them into the garbage (it seemed wrong to keep them even if they had been soaked several times in disinfectant, even if the tiniest traces of blood still on them could be bleached away).

"Rogue, don't be silly; you aren't _responsible_ for his actions."

"It's _my_ fault it happened. Ah should have been _there_ to help him...if Ah _had_ been-"

"You couldn't predict he would decide to get up in the middle of the night to get a drink, Rogue."

"Ah should have been more _helpful_...Ah should have _told_ him to call for me..."

"Stop blaming yourself, Rogue."

"You _asked_ me to help him...and Ah _didn't_ do a very good job."

"What more _could_ you have done?" he posed the question at her.

"Ah...dunno..." she shrugged helplessly. "Ah could have set a glass of water beside the bed for him...Ah could have told him it was _alright_ for him to call for me even if it _is_ the middle of the night...Ah could have made _sure_ there weren't glasses near the edge of the cupboard above the counter..."

"I didn't expect you to have _all_ of his solutions in one day, Rogue. Whether you had thought of _everything_ or not, there was a chance the accident still would have occurred regardless."

"But if Ah had-"

"Rogue," said the Professor sternly, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "Focusing on our failures...on what we _could_ have done doesn't change what happened. It happened, and we must move on. Remy was hurt badly, yes, but he survived. Your fast thinking and being able to act calmly in a crisis saved his life."

She had nothing to say to this; she was uncomfortable with the praise and didn't welcome it at all. It shouldn't have come to that...it shouldn't have _come _to having to save his life at all. None of it should have happened and she was very aware that she had fault in it's occurrence despite the Professor's assurance that it hadn't been her fault whatsoever. She sighed and glanced at her finger nails; they were still stained with blood no matter how much she had washed her hands and scrubbed at them. Just like the floor, it seemed like Remy LeBeau's blood and forever more stained her fingernails, too. This horrible night would forever be a part of her.

Hank called me from the hospital and told me he's doing fine. They gave him a blood transfusion and he'll be home soon."

"Oh," was all she could manage.

"So go get some well deserved rest, and stop fretting...please," Professor Xavier requested.

"But what about-" she began.

"I'll call your school in a few hours and tell them that you'll be off sick today," Professor Xavier said to her, sounding quite decisive about it, "so go to bed and feel free to sleep in...you deserve it."

Without thanking the Professor, she walked by and left the kitchen. The hallway floors were now completely clean, glistening, the smell of pine disinfectant hung in the air. It might have been pleasant to Rogue had she_ not_ known that the coppery smell of blood had hung there only an hour ago, and that the red splatters and smudges had been there too.

_What if Ah _hadn't_ come down stairs?_ She wondered as she stared at the floor; although not a trace of blood was left there in the hallway, she could still see it in her mind, the smears of blood that had marked the wooden panels on the wall where he'd supported himself as she'd helped him towards the sick bay. She could still imagine their footprints, the drops of blood leading tiny trails. She could still picture the way it had left twisting rivers along his arm, the way it had splattered on his cheek and clotted against his growth. It was still clear in her mind the way Remy LeBeau's blood had mapped it's way across the dry skin of her knuckles.

She lingered in the foyer, trying to ignore that she still felt the blood on her hands; the tiny traces of it in her fingernails was enough to make her feel slightly nauseous. She stared at her fingers, shrivelled slightly from the dampness inside the rubber gloves she'd worn to clean the kitchen floor.

The front door opened, and in walked Remy LeBeau being led by Hank McCoy; the pyjamas he was wearing were blood stained – absolutely ruined not unlike her own. His cheek was smeared with red, it was in his hair, on his jaw, on his neck. He was covered in dried blood, and it made Rogue shiver. He looked so pale and mortal.

"Rogue, you're still up," said Hank; how could he sound so cheerful under the circumstances? It occurred to her that he was _forcing _himself to sound positive to put her at ease. There was a look in his indigo blue eyes that was still full of alarm and exhaustion even with his real face hidden behind his image transducer. Despite the crisis having now been averted, Hank was far from cheerful.

"Ah've just finished cleaning the kitchen floor," she stated, her voice was thick with stress; standing awkwardly there in the hallway, her senses were full of pine fresh scent and the image of bright red blood.

Remy LeBeau hung there, his mouth pulled in a hard expression, his jaw seemed to tighten. He seemed to want to say something but found it difficult. Before he had a chance to try to say whatever he had meant to say, Hank broke the momentarily silence.

"Thank you, Rogue," said Hank with a nod, "you're very thoughtful."

Remy's head inclined to the floor, he seemed to be chewing his cheek, what Rogue could see of his expression was strange and unlike him.

She sighed and left to go upstairs without saying anything else to either of them; her room the way she'd left it earlier that night. She caught sight of herself in the mirror; there was blood on her cheek, and also in the white of her hair. It was on the shoulder of her nightgown in the shape of a smeared hand print; although she'd desperately washed her hands and thrown away the ruined socks she'd been wearing that had become soaked with Remy's blood, it hadn't occurred to her to wash her face or hair – the thought of having anyone else see all the blood Remy had left in his wake had concerned her far more than her blood splatter pyjamas and hair.

Grabbing her robe from the end of the bed, she made her way to the shower; at least for once she'd get the first shower of the morning rather than the last.

* * *

The stitches itched like crazy, and at the same time seemed to burn and sting like someone might have just poured acid into the wound. At the moment, Remy would have loved nothing better than to tear the bandage off and scratch and pick at it until the sensations eased off. Unfortunately, that wasn't even an option.

He felt water running along his front; sitting in a bathtub completely naked in front of one of the X-Men was humiliating enough, but sitting naked in a bathtub with one of the X-Men and being _washed_ seemed to really just be the cherry on the top of a rather horrifying sundae.

Despite Hank McCoy was professional and clinical at what he was doing, Remy couldn't help but feel terribly depressed as the lukewarm water from the shower head Hank was spraying him with dribbled down his exposed chest and pooled in his groin.

"How are you feeling?" Hank asked quietly, his voice was so soft and so full of concern that Remy found it hard _not_ to appreciate the man despite the awkwardness of being naked in front of him. Remy had never been fond of any of the X-Men – except perhaps Rogue – but already in the short amount of time he'd been in the mansion he begun to understand why people liked the Beast so much. There was a kindness there that was _hard_ to not like.

"Fine," Remy lied. He didn't feel fine.

"No symptoms?"

"Like?"

"Chills...headache...shortness of breath..."

"Chills, maybe," replied Remy. "That bad?"

"It's normal, after a transfusion. You're showing no worrying signs of bad reactions to the transfusions...but I will be monitoring your recovery, regardless."

"I thought y' were a teacher," Remy admitted after several moments of silence between them. What else _was_ there to say? It was bad enough losing his sight, but having to listen to nothing else but the echoing sounds of water hitting the large bathtub was almost as agonizing as the damn stitches.

"I am."

"But y' a doctor too?" Remy asked, he ran his fingers along the bottom of the bathtub, feeling the textured dots against his slightly calloused fingers. "A real one? Not a _Doctor_ o' science and all that?"

"Studied at John Hopkins," Hank confessed.

Remy pondered in the darkness,"That's the best, right?"

"You _could_ say that," chuckled Hank.

"So if y' wanted t' be a doctor...how come y' became a teacher?" Remy asked, trying to ignore the fact he had a rather large hand shampooing his hair.

"My mutation began to affect my ability to spend long hours at the hospital around the beginning of my second year of residency; long hours with very little sleep in between shifts, the high levels of stress – it triggered parts of my mutation and left me quite unstable. My work didn't suffer, but my mentality did and I struggled to keep myself in check. I knew if I didn't find alternative employment I would risk losing my medical license altogether."

"So you became a teacher."

"Not immediately. For a while I tried to find work researching mutant genetics but most hospitals and universities won't fund such a department. Science was always one of my passions in high school, and I took chemistry and biology in college before I went to medical school. I was _over qualified_ for a position to teach science at Bayville high – it meant taking a huge paycut and leaving my dreams as a doctor behind, but I was much happier and less stressed. And it left more time for research, which is my passion."

Remy listened, trying to focus on what the man was saying rather than on the uncomfortable itch beneath his bandage, or the burning in his ruined eyes, which for the moment were free from the dressings.

"Now that my mutation has hit a plateau and has stabilized, I'm able to work much more efficiently – and here I can become a jack of all trades," Hank gave a yawn; Remy had forgotten about how late – or early? - it probably was by now.

As the shower head was raised to flush the shampoo and blood out of his hair, the water rushed over his tender stinging eyes and Remy yelped in pain.

"Sorry," Hank apologized; his voice sleepy, and vague. "It's been a very long night."

"Yeah, it has," Remy winced at the stinging, he reached up to touch them but Hank swatted his hand away gently. "Can't wait t' wake up and find out this is all a nightmare or somethin'."

"If only things were that simple."

After getting out of the tub, and being allowed to dry himself off (a luxury! Finally something he _was_ able to do for himself!), Remy was led to the room that would be his while he remained living with the X-Men. While Hank applied new dressings to his throbbing eyes, Remy listened to the sounds of the mansion; alarm clocks, going off, arguing in the hallway.

_"I was like, totally here first! It's not fair! She always gets seniority 'cause she's the eldest! I mean like, _her_ first class of the day doesn't even _start_ til nine thirty! I have to be at school by eight fifteen!"_

"_Aw c'mon, man! Who used the last of the shampoo? My hair _stinks_ like sweat! Nicht gut!"_

_"Stop bein' such a girl, elf, and just use your shower gel and stop holdin' up the line!"_

Remy picked at a loose thread he could feel on the thigh of the _clean_ pyjamas Hank had given him. "It always like this in the mornin'?" he wondered aloud; somewhere distantly he could hear rock music, and from somewhere else a television with what sounded like a news station.

"Pretty much," Hank replied. "Our students are a rather _lively_ bunch, and it does get rather hectic in the morning as they all start coming to life."

"What does your _Professor_ do in the mornin'?" Remy queried. Actually, other than constantly campaigning for mutant rights, he wondered what the Professor did, period, and what he did to finance all of this. "Actually...what does he do, _period_?"

"He does paper work for this place – and there is _stacks_ of it to keep things running. He makes various phone calls throughout the day and will participate in a few hours of research in the late afternoon before taking off to do some work with the students."

"In the _Danger Room_?"

"You've heard of it?" Hank queried.

"Heard a few o' your students prattlin' on about it," he answered, "And Magneto once mentioned he _helped_ build it."

"What else did Magneto _mention _to you?" Hank asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"That y' got an incredibly intricate machine that can find _any_ mutant in the world hidden downstairs in y' basement. He helped build _that_ too."

"There _was_ a time when he and Charles worked together quite well. At least until Magneto's _vision_ changed."

Even the word _vision_ left Remy feeling incredibly vulnerable at that moment. Would he himself ever have _vision_ again?

"I hope you _don't_ mind me asking," Hank began, "but there's so terribly much we _don't_ know about yourself...other than what Rogue divulged over a post-mission briefing. "How _did_ you start working for Magneto?"

"He sought me out same way I guess y' Professor found the X-Men. He said I have _potential._ Or I guess I _did _have. Up until your front man _blinded_ me."

"Charles is doing his best to find a solution. When he makes a promise, Gambit, he sticks to it."

"Y' really _believe_ he's gon' be able to find someone or somethin' able t' restore my sight?" Remy responded softly. In his heart he _wanted_ to believe that it was possible, but in his head, he knew logically these things were often impossible, and even if they could restore his sight, it would never quite be _the same_.

"I believe that he's determined enough to find a way," Hank responded; there was only the vaguest trace of doubt in his tone.

Remy gave an ironic laugh, "determined? It's been over a year and he can't even help _Rogue_ get control over her powers..." he ran his fingers absently across the cool smooth porcelain of the bathtub.

Hank paused, Remy could almost hear him contemplating; there was a sigh that spoke with the large furry man's frustration. "Rogue's condition is nothing to do with your condition," he finally managed.

"My point is..." began Remy with a sigh too, "is that if he can't help _Rogue_, how am I supposed t' have _any_ faith in him that he can help _me?"_

_"First_ of all," said Hank, "we're learning all the time about mutant genetics and how they work, how powers manifest and can be _controlled. _But Rogue's case is _unique..._and it is difficult for you to judge if you cannot se-" Hank caught himself, "_understand_ it from a _scientific _point of view. If you cannot understand the _science _of a power, how can you begin to control it? Rogue's problem – unlike your problem right now – isn't medical and therefore, the solution isn't as _tangible_."

"Y' don't think there's others out there who _could_ help her?" Remy posed, "y' don't think there's someone out there who's more _brilliant_ than you and your Professor who _could_ have a tangible solution?"

"There may _well_ be_ others_ out there who have solutions and knowledge more vast than ours, certainly. I won't _deny_ the huge possibility of it. I hope there _are_ such people..." Remy could feel a dressing being taped over his right eye as Hank spoke. "However, seeking out the help of _others_ regarding Rogue's powers...could be more _dangerous _to her than beneficial. Some may want to _study_ her rather than help her, or use her powers for their own benefit..."

Remy grimaced. Yes, this was a possibility...and he knew it from experience. The mention of it left a lingering taste of guilt swirling around in his mouth.

"Some may want to _replicate_ her powers..."

Remy stiffened, "y' think someone would do that?"

"Do you not?"

"I guess. I mean...I can see why people would _want _her. Once she's got a mess of crazy powers...she's near impossible t' beat. She got powerful enough t' beat me...and I'm way more skilled than she is."

Hank chuckled, "you really think so?"

"I know I am. Or was..." Remy admitted, he gave a sigh, "I been trainin' for this kinda life since I was a kid...Rogue doesn't have the years I do. She might have the powers but she _don't_ got the skill."

"Perhaps once your vision is restored..." Hank taped on a dressing to the right eye, "you can stick around and teach us all a thing or two," he chuckled.

_"_Y' mus' be high if y' think I'm stickin' around once I get my vision back."

_"_You never know, Gambit. You may just learn to like it here if you gave it a chance."

"I doubt it.

* * *

It was strange, waking up and forgetting where he was. When Remy LeBeau raised his head from the pillow with the revelation he had no sight, for one moment he had forgotten nearly everything, the accident, the second _accident_, the darkness that may haunt him forever. And then, with the sting in his wrist that came when he felt around to try and find a light switch suddenly everything rushed back to him.

He sat up slowly, feeling around; he felt the covers of the bed, the nightstand, the headboard; his fingers tailed over each as he tried to get to grips with his surroundings. What now? Did he have to remain here and wait for someone to get him, or was he free to _leave_ the room and try to find his way around?

It had been one of the roughest sleeps he had ever had in his young life; painkillers didn't help much to relieve the stinging and itching sensation that came with his new wound. While lying in the impenetrable dark all through the morning, he'd been quite aware of being frequently checked on; at one point someone even checking his pulse which he thought a bit much.

Hank McCoy had said to him '_If you need anything, just yell, someone will come' _just after helping him to bed. It seemed to Remy that his becoming blind had reverted him somehow back into being an infant. Remy wasn't in the mood for people to come running, and he certainly didn't want to yell for help like a weakling...like a helpless child after a nightmare.

It took him a while to find something to wear; he had to feel around for quite a while until he located a chair where some fresh-smelling clothes had been laid out for him. He wasn't sure if he had the t-shirt the right way around or not but he pulled it on awkwardly after many failed attempts of getting his head caught in the sleeve. The jogging pants were easier to get into, although trying to get his socks the right way around was tedious and he couldn't find any shoes and he'd injured his head quite a few times off various pieces of furniture as he'd tried.

Leaving the bedroom still feeling groggy and sore, he felt along the hall helplessly until he found where the stairs were. He had to shift down slowly, one step, two step, careful, tiny steps feeling for the edge of each stair with his toes, holding onto the banister for dear life all the while even though the tension in his left wrist pulled on the stitches and hurt all the more.

A voice disturbed him from the top of the stairs as he had gotten – he assumed to be – around halfway down. "Your shirt is on backwards you know. And it's inside out."

Rogue. A voice he couldn't have been more glad to hear right at that moment in time despite he didn't like appearing helpless in front of her. "When you can't see, it's hard to tell where the _logo_ is," he reminded.

"You can't feel for a label?" Rogue asked, he had the distinct impression she was rolling her eyes at him.

Label. Ah, yes, he hadn't quite thought that one through. He'd just been in a hurry to get _out_ of the damned bedroom where he'd spent most of his time since the accident that had cost him his precious eyesight.

_Take a note o' that, _he told himself. _Label. Check for a label before pullin' anythin' on in future or people will make you feel like an idiot for having your t-shirt backwards and inside out._

"Least you got the pants on the right way..." she noted.

"I'm better at get'n' _out _o' clothes than _int' _them," he confessed brashly.

Rogue's hesitation at his remark left him realising he had been out of line and she hovered awkwardly nearby, her breath soft somewhere near his right and slightly behind him.

"What I _mean_ is," he tried to cover, "is that it's _easier_..."

"Oh."

"What time is it?" Remy queried, gripping onto the rail as he tried to find her general direction.

"Nearly two pm," Rogue replied; she sounded as if she may just have woken up too.

He hadn't expected to sleep so late...he hadn't been actually sure what time last night his accident with the glass had occurred either. He was about to ask when he felt a gloved hand wrap around each arm...she was in front of him; he hadn't even heard nor felt her move to get there, and for some reason this alarmed him.

_What if she'd been an enemy? I'd have never known what was comin'!_

"Okay, take a step...not too big..." Rogue instructed, he felt her hands grip his arms firmly, and somehow he managed to get to the bottom of the stairs under her instruction without any tumbles or trips. At the bottom, she took his hand and placed it upon her shoulder, "follow my lead, okay?"

Remy did as he was told, her voice and her shoulder the only things he had to lead through the darkness.

"To get around as a blind person, you need to start takin' note of your surroundings," she explained as she suddenly without warning stopped; he bumped into her and steadied himself; she didn't apologise but he felt an awkward puff of her breath hit his face, and he detected the minty scent of toothpaste.

"How do I do _that_ when I can't _see?_" he pointed out.

Rogue took his hand and placed it upon what felt like the nearest wall, "feel around..." she ordered.

He thought this all silly, but he did as he was told; his fingers brushing against the cold flat wall; they slid down to meet with solid wood, bevelled, engraved by the feel of it.

"What does that tell you?" Rogue asked.

"That I'm by a wall that's panelled...'bout halfway down..." he answered.

Rogue replied, "yeah, you're right. Now the _hallway_ here, is the _only_ room that has that panelling...and each of the daido rails in each section of the hall have a _completely _different design on them...you need to get used to the different patterns...they'll tell you where in the hall you're at."

He listened, considering her words. Had these been things she'd noticed ever since her arrival here at the mansion over a year ago? Or...was this something she'd just recently had to take note of? Had she been studying her surroundings to _help_ him? _Was_ she going to help him? Even _after_ how insolent and cold he'd been to her the night before about her feelings for Scott and how it had clouded her judgement about who was to blame?

"Y' had time t' think about this, didn't y'," he realised.

"Shut up and pay attention," she commanded irritably.

"Okay," he answered.

She held his hand and gently pulled him along, "and this...what do you hear?"

He listened as he walked slowly, a creaking finally happened as he took a step; it made him stop and test the floor beneath his feet. "Creaky floorboards..."

"Creaky floorboard; right outside of the rec room," Rogue replied.

_Daido rails, creaky floors,_ he reminded himself.

"Part of bein' blind..." Rogue began as she led him a little further, "is being completely in tune with your surroundings. Every little sound, every little sensation...it'll tell you about where you are exactly..."

"How y' know all this?" he asked of her.

"My foster mother, Irene was blind and Ah wanted to know what it was _like_. So Ah wore a blindfold for a few weeks – only after school – and tried to get my head around how it feels to be blind. Ah even wrote a paper for school about it..."

"Bet y' got an A."

"B minus, actually," she confessed.

"Y' were robbed."

Rogue placed his hand upon wood, it felt like a door this time, four panelled, grained wood, he found the doorknob; it felt like glass rather than metal or plastic.

"The Professor's door is the _only door_ in the place that has a crystal doorknob," Rogue explained, "and so you'll always know now, how to get there."

"And how do I find you?" he asked quietly, he took a deep breath, "what if I need to find _you_."

"I'll be around..." Rogue remarked, he could hear the shift of fabric; had she shrugged at him even though he couldn't _see_ it? "C'mon. There's a lot of stuff you need to learn. Try and keep up."

* * *

There were things no one told him about; no one had ever told him of the things that would change in his life if he went blind. No one had ever said that suddenly becoming blind was something that could strip you of every independence you'd ever taken for granted. It was like...being born again...becoming an infant, blind and incapable of taking care of himself in a world of seeing adults.

Rogue's little tricks proved only useful at the appropriate times. Counting steps to the kitchen, where to find the fridge...the plastic glasses she'd thoughtfully put in a low cupboard for him...those were all easy. They really didn't give him any freedom, any ability to live the way he had before.

Taking a shower was now _not_ a solo activity; nor was going to the bathroom. He had to be led to each, helped to get to the appropriate facility, help to _aim_ for the right place, help to find the toilet to sit upon, and these were things that were humiliating He felt like a child again, always feeling as if he had to have adult supervision, in case he wet himself, or slipped or broke something.

Even brushing his teeth was now a two-person job. Someone had to be there, pick out the brush for him, put the toothpaste on it for him, make sure he was directly over the sink when he spat before rinsing. He'd never had supervision in learning to brush his teeth even when _Jean-Luc _had taken him in when he was young. He'd never dreamed that it would come to something like this.

Two days passed at what seemed to Remy to be a snails pace and already life felt as if were becoming a chore. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the embarrassment or the helplessness.

He had even lost track of what day it was; no one had ever mentioned and he thought it perhaps foolish to ask. He no longer even knew the time of day, and had to go by being instructed when it was time to get to bed or when it was time for lunch or dinner. They were only rough estimates...again, he felt too ashamed to request someone tell him the time...it made him feel that he might be even more helpless if he asked.

_I can't take this no more,_ he thought dully as he practised finding his way through the Xavier Mansion, trying to make mental notes of his surroundings by touch and sound just as Rogue had instructed days ago. He always forgot most of what he learned within an hour or so and usually had to retrace and relearn. It confused him that he should find this so difficult as usually as a _seeing_ person he was a fast learner. As visually impaired, he felt forgetful and useless no matter what he tried to do.

The distinct swishing sound of the large front doors of the mansion opening told him he was near the foyer; he'd only partly thought he might be there due to the sound of his footsteps, the echo of the large spacious room. He heard voices and paused where he was in the hallway, unsure if he could be seen or not.

"I'm just so glad the week is nearly _over_ already," came the voice of Kitty Pryde, she sighed, her shoes made a peculiar sound on the tile floor of the foyer, it reminded him of flipflops and he was sure that might be what she was wearing despite the cold weather outside. "No more tests this week at least!"

"Ah know...Ah failed a verbal test today..the Professor is gonna _kill_ me when he finds out," Rogue despaired, her footsteps were heavier, he was sure she might definitely be wearing clunky boots and she seemed to be dragging her feet.

"A few more weeks then Christmas break," Kitty remarked cheerily, "at least we'll have a little vacation from thinkin' about it..."

"Ah'm gonna go watch TV before everyone else gets home..."

The two girls parted company, Remy heard Rogue's footsteps impending, he just hovered and waited for her, already having forgotten what he was doing exactly.

"Remy...why are you hanging around there like that?" Rogue sounded somewhat startled; he gathered he had been standing in a less than obvious area.

"Was tryin' to find my way to a room with a radio or somethin'," he lied.

"And you couldn't find the rec room?"

"It's hard findin' anything in this place – it's so big."

"You need to pay more attention when I tell you things," Rogue decided, the tone of her voice told him she was only vaguely annoyed with him, which was a lot less than usual, at least.

"What test did y' fail?"

"You were eavesdroppin'?"

"I overheard. What test?"

Rogue took a hold of his arm and began to lead him down the hall with her. "French."

"Shame. Y' coulda came to my room this mornin' and absorbed some _French_ before y' went to class."

Her reply was hesitant. "That's cheatin'. Besides...test was after Lunch...chances are by then Ah woulda forgotten everythin'."

"True," he admitted. Had she _thought_ about doing that? Was that why she had hesitated before speaking? He was unsure, and it felt hard to read the tone of her voice without the expression in her face to accompany it.

They walked for a moment or two in silence, and Rogue led him to a sofa; he felt his way around before attempting to sit on instruction...somehow he still didn't completely trust it when people said it was fine to just sit back, that there was something behind him. He always expected to fall, as if someone was going to play a cruel trick on him and pull the seat from under him...or tell him to sit where a chair never was.

Rogue moved around the room, he heard her. Sound burst into the room; a too loud television, the flicking of channels. A news programme finally came on.

_There has still been no clues as to the explosion that took place on Tuesday morning at the Bayville Chemical Plant. The damage caused is estimated at about two-and-a-half million dollars, and it is suspected that mutant terrorists may be responsible-"_

Remy gave a distant chuckle, "mutant terrorist. Is that what I am now? A mutant _terrorist?_"

"It...depends which side you're on," Rogue answered after a moment, he felt the couch move at his side, she was beside him now, he heard the leather creak beneath her.

"I'm not on any sides. I'm Switzerland," he remarked, forcing a smirk.

"Who were you _working_ for, anyway?"

"I never reveal who my _clients_ are; rule number two of the Thieves guild."

"Yeah, and rule number one is _don't get caught,_ right?"

"I guess your Professor told you."

"Just how many rules _are _there?"

"Too many, and at the same time...not enough," he answered flippantly; he let his fingers trace the lines and cracks in the slightly worn leather of the armrest. Somehow he'd never imagined himself sitting casually in the X-Men's living room on a leather couch watching (or rather listening to) the television. The whole moment seemed quite surreal to him; he wondered if this was to become a regular thing...would this be the extent of his life? Would this be as _much _as he could live?

Could this be deemed _living_ at _all_?

* * *

End of Part 2

* * *

Thanks to everyone for their reviews and for adding me to their favourites/author alerts. Love you all and hope you all enjoyed this part.


	3. Part 3

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 3**

**Sleepless**

* * *

The rest of the day was uneventful, but then there weren't many things he could find to do while being in this blind state. It seemed to him that the _lack_ of activity in his life now was one of the reasons why his day dragged on.

After dinner that night, he requested Rogue to take him for a walk around the Xavier gardens...he was sick of being cooped up inside, and even if it was cold outside, the threat of winter hanging in the air, he was certain it had to be better than sitting inside waiting for bedtime again. It seemed that all his life consisted of right now was _waiting_. Waiting for bedtime, waiting for waking up time, waiting for breakfast, for lunch, for Rogue coming home from School to drill him more about how to get around the mansion, waiting for dinner, then waiting for bedtime again. It was a dreary existence, and the promise of a walk was at least something to kill the monotony of it.

Scott Summer's jacket fit him perfectly. It hurt somehow, that the boy who had blinded him was also his closest fit in the mansion. What was the word for this feeling...was it _irony_?

He held onto Rogue's elbow as they walked together, there was a promise of rain and every now and then a tiny pinprick sized dot of water would hit his face, and he would glance up waiting for the torrent, but none would come. "It's gon' rain," he said. He wondered how the sky looked...was it cloudy or black? Was it even dark or light outside? After dinner, he was assuming it must be dark by now.

"Maybe," Rogue replied, he could tell by her pace, and by the way she held her arm out for him that her hands were in her pockets. He tried to imagine her in a black winter coat, the hood perhaps up and found it hard to remember exactly how she looked. How quickly the memory seemed to be fading, and how it frightened him.

"Feels good t' be outside," he admitted as he walked by her side, the cold threw a gale up the back of the jacket he was wearing. "Never was one for sitting inside all the time."

Rogue made a soft 'mmmhmm' sound as she walked beside him.

"This must be crampin' your style, eh? Bein' my _chaperone_. Y' must be feelin' like some kind of guide dog or something," he said, sounding quite disgusted with the idea of it. To be honest, if he'd been thrown into the same position Rogue was in now, he wasn't sure he would have been able to do it.

"It's not like it's the most _exciting_ activity around here," Rogue said after a moment, "but the Professor requested Ah take care of you while you're here...'cause Ah know a little about how to help you."

"Y' didn' have to say yes though," Remy reminded.

"Didn't Ah?" she asked.

"I know there bad blood between us...y' can't have forgiven me _yet_ for draggin' y' to The Big Easy to save Jean-Luc."

"You did what you had to," Rogue decided, he felt her shrug a little as he gripped her arm; the wool of her coat was rough against his bare hand and slightly caught against the callouses of his fingers. "That doesn't mean Ah _totally_ forgive you for lyin' to me. The _stupid_ thing is...if you'd only _asked_, Ah would have _helped_ you. We _all_ would have."

"I didn' wanna take that chance...an' I didn' want your friends get'n' involved."

"Wait...you didn't want _them_ to involved, but you didn't mind _me_ getting involved?"

"If I had t' pick the one person I thought was gon' understand...I knew it was gon' be you..." he explained.

"You don't trust the X-Men?" she asked.

"It's not that I didn' _trust _them t' help me..." he sighed, "but...it Makes y' weak, y'know, sometimes...when y' let people know where y' _really_ from...what y' really came from..."

"Ah know," she admitted softly, "But...we're not the kinda people who're gonna _judge_ you for that. And we're _not_ the kinda people who use that kinda _weakness_ against other people."

He listened to her voice, studied it, the softness...the hint of emotion just lurking behind that soft throaty sigh each time she talked.

"Everyone here has a weakness," Rogue finally admitted.

"I...know...I spent a lot of time studyin' y' all," he confessed after a moment of contemplation wondering if he _should_ tell her.

She stopped, "what do you mean by that?" she suddenly demanded.

"I mean...that I found out _a lot._"

"What did you find out?" she asked sounding suddenly quite hostile. He had forgotten how defensive she tended to be when it came to her privacy being invaded and her life being under scrutiny. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that. She yanked her arm away from him and he reached out to try and grab it but missed and felt around in the air for her...she was standing away from him now. "Well?"

"The obvious. We been over that already."

"What?"

"Y' got a big weakness for _Cyclops_."

She shuffled, he heard the rustle of her jacket.

"And he _don'_ love you back."

He heard her take a deep breath.

"Y' been chasin' him like a puppy dog for the past year and he not said more than two words t' ya all the while..." he said, his voice soft. Why did he feel the need to shove the knife in deeper when he already knew he'd hurt her with his words? He wished there was some giant rewind button he could punch to take back the whole conversation to when it had just been vaguely awkward as they'd walked side by side barely saying anything.

She seemed to have no response for him, but he heard her still standing there, her soft breathing, her shifting uneasily. He wanted to apologise...he really _did_...but when he tried all that came out was more twisting of his metaphorical knife. "Can chase all them rainbows all y' want, chere. Y' never get to the pot of gold at the end of it. He _never_ gonna love you." That final twist...it might as well have been right in her heart. He heard a soft sniff and an exhale. Before he could question it, there was a rumble in the distance. Thunder was coming.

The downpour came suddenly, it hit hard like a cold shower on full blast; he felt instantly soaked as it spread through Scott Summers' jacket and onto his skin, instantly cooling him to nearly freezing.

"C'mon. I'll take you home," Rogue said, her voice sullen. He felt her hand grab the sleeve of his jacket and she dragged him along.

_I should have just kept my mouth shut,_ he thought drearily as he let himself be led back to the mansion. _I should have never said anything at all._

* * *

She couldn't sleep. His words kept repeating in her head, it stung like the attack of an angry wasp that persistently hit at the very most tender spot of her soul.

_He never gonna love you._

Rogue rolled over; she was unable to get comfortable for some reason, and even if she could find the briefest moment of comfort, her mind wouldn't switch off.

She hated this. She hated that Remy LeBeau had gotten to her in such a way. Twice he'd brought up the subject of Scott Summers, and twice it had been completely and utterly unappreciated. It was way too personal of him to get into this...way too personal for him to bring up things that had long gone and truly sailed.

At two am, she finally gave up on sleep. She tried listening to music, and found it only inspiring a headache. She tried doodling in her journal, but all that came up were useless and shapeless squiggles. She tossed the book to the bottom of the bed; as she watched it land she glanced beyond it and noticed there was a smeared spot of blood on the footboard of the bed.

_Must have come off my clothes a few nights ago,_ she thought dully as she grabbed a tissue from her nightstand, spat into it and climbed to the bottom of the bed to wipe it off roughly. She glanced at the tissue now stained with Remy's blood and a chill swept over her again at the memory of nights ago and the incident that could have possibly meant the end of Remy LeBeau.

She wondered what it had felt like from the other side...how frightened he must have been when he put his hand down and accidentally embedded his wrist upon the glass. Not being able to tell how much blood he was losing while his senses began to feel dull from the loss of it.

Rogue realised she would never sleep now. She tried to think of something useful she could do and thought of homework...she glanced around the room for her backpack but realised she'd left it downstairs in the foyer; she had a tendency to hang her backpack on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and she realised it was probably still there.

As she left her room, she was surprised to find Remy LeBeau sitting on the floor in the hallway, his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them; even with his eyes covered with the cotton dressings, he seemed to be gazing ahead. His head shifted at her footstep in the hall, he cocked his head around helplessly to try and locate the direction of the sound. "Who's there?"

"Just me," she said quietly in a half whisper. "What you doin' out here?" she asked of him. Talking to him left an odd lump in her throat, and she still couldn't help but feel angry with him despite the moment being now well and truly over.

He gave a sigh, he dropped his arms from around his knees, "I need t' go to the bathroom. Can't find it. Don' wanna try all these doors and risk wakin' someone up..."

It was odd, that through all the help she'd been giving him in the past few days, that never once had it occurred to her that at some points he did need to go to the bathroom. She supposed it had been one of the men who had been helping him with this more awkward task. Should she go awaken one of them now?

"Oh."

Remy put his head in his hands. "I can't take this..." he groaned. "I can't deal with this on a daily basis...waitin' for help...not bein' able t' find things...forgettin' where I am..."

She chewed the inside of her cheek, not sure how to console him other than tell him to grow up and get over it...it was what she was positive he didn't need nor want to hear at that particular moment. Never the less, hadn't that been _his_ point earlier?

"I can't do anything myself anymore..." he ran his hand through his hair which seemed unnaturally limp and greasy. "I can't _deal_ with it..."

She sighed and came to sit beside him, her back touching the cool wall, she brought her knees up to her chest. "It'll get easier."

"It's humiliating, chere..." he admitted.

"People go through this every day. Not everyone adjusts on the first few days...it takes weeks...months...years..." Rogue admitted. "Irene still had trouble with some stuff...Ah had to help her out all the time, and she was blind since birth."

"I don't _wan' _people to be runnin' after me. I want my _life_ back."

"Y'know what, people every day become blind, and most of them back it back to livin' a full life and they don't let the fact they can't _see_ stop them from enjoyin' it...and those are people who have _no_ chance of havin' their sight restored...which you _do._"

"How can I trust that? How can I trust _anythin' _you people say?"

"If the Professor says he'll help you...he will," Rogue promised.

Remy stared off into space, his expression so lost as he gazed into infinite darkness. "Didn' he tell you that, too? When you came here? That he'd help you control your powers?"

She stood up, "why do you keep deflecting this onto me?" she demanded. "Ah'm tryin' to help you and all you keep doin' is turnin' it around to try and hurt me!"

"_You and I,_ are in the same _boat,_ chere. We're both _trapped_ by this. You with your skin, and me with my eyes. _Trapped._"

"Okay," said Rogue, she clenched her fists, she had to refrain from wanting to hit him – it wouldn't be fair on him...after all, he wouldn't see it coming, would he? "You're right. We might _both_ be trapped, _Remy LeBeau,_ but there's a huge difference, here!"

"Oh, and what migh' _that_ be?"

"Ah was born in mine. You walked into yours," she turned towards her door – she didn't have it in her now to go downstairs and look for homework; she was far too angry to focus on anything now anyway.

Remy remained there quiet, listening to her; somehow she expected more of an argument. It didn't seem his nature to just sit quietly and accept anything.

"You chose to walk into that chemical plant, and you chose to work for whoever it was you were workin' for. You _knew_ there were certain dangers but you chose to ignore that, 'cause you think you're somethin' special, you think that you're indestructible, that you're too Goddamn skilled to ever let anything happen to you...and you know _what_, Remy? This time it _did._.. so deal with it. Stop sittin' and sulkin', feelin sorry for yourself goin' on about the end of your life and tryin' to make _me_ feel like shit just 'cause _you_ do! Make _peace_ with the fact that you screwed up, and start figurin' out how you're gonna work through this until it _can_ be rectified!" she yelled.

He swallowed, "Do y' think that I wanna sit here and feel like it's the end o' the world?" he demanded with a lump in his throat. "I can't go take a piss without needin' someone to tell me where to aim! I can't go for a shower without someone helpin' me in and out. I feel like a fuckin' invalid...I've lost my independence...I've lost _everythin' _I was...all because of your stupid so-called _team-mate_ and his shitty aim!"

"Stop bringin' Cyclops into this," Rogue defended, "you knew what you were doing and you screwed up."

"Why the _hell _are y' so quick to defend him _every_ time! Can y' not get over the fact he might not _be _as perfect as y' like to think? He ain' _perfect, _and he _ain_' gonna love you, get _used_ to it."

Rogue's mouth dropped but words refused to come out.

"You standin' there all high and mighty goin' on about how _I _should deal with things and get over things, and you...there you are defendin' someone who doesn't give a _shit_ about you! You haven't even moved on or dealt with it...you're just waitin' for him and he just won't _be there_. Deal with _that._"

Her eyes stung with the threat of fresh tears.

"What the hell is goin' on out here?" came a voice from down the hall and Rogue glanced to see Wolverine with a sheet around his waist, his hair mussed, his eyes puffy from exhaustion.

Rogue blinked back her tears and turned towards her bedroom door, "Gambit needs the bathroom. Better take him, Logan, before he wets himself like the _baby_ he is!" she remarked before going inside and slamming the door just in time before the tears began to flow.

* * *

School the next day was miserable. Tired, and depressed, she dragged her feet from class to class barely feeling present with the rest of the student body. She failed a surprise maths test, which she knew she would suffer for later when the news got back to the Professor. She even somehow managed to burn her perfectly timed peanut butter cookies in home economics and was carrying the rattling burned-black blobs in a tupperware box in her backpack. It had been a bad day, and there didn't seem to be any signs it would improve.

In study hall, her final period, she took a seat at the table beside Kitty Pryde who was searching through a big pile of books for a subject relevant to her history project.

"Hi," Kitty said distractedly, she flipped a page, running her finger down an index list.

Rogue said nothing, she dropped into a seat, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and pulled her books form her bag.

"I said hiiiiiiiii," Kitty turned towards her.

"Yeah, hi," Rogue said irritably. She searched for her required chapter in the book she was supposed to be studying from...she'd already forgotten what the assignment was. She slammed the book shut and pushed it away with her with a frustrated growl. "Urrrrgh!"

A few students at the table on the other side of the study hall glanced over briefly, some of them whispered amongst themselves, but they went back to what they were doing.

"Wow, bad mood?" Kitty raised an eyebrow, she waited at least until the other students seemed to no longer be listening or paying them attention.

"Ah'm just _tired_," Rogue said, "Ah didn't sleep all night."

"Yeah, I _heard. _And by _heard,_ I mean that your screaming at Gambit at 3am woke me up and I didn't sleep much _either_, after that," Kitty explained.

"Sorry."

"Even Wolverine was like, in a _totally _cranky mood this morning and looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Yeah, well, Ah couldn't hold my tongue," Rogue spat; she then regretted her tone of voice and she pursed her lips and took a deep breath through her nose as she tried to calm herself down. She was still incredibly angry with herself that she had let Remy get to her...that she had _let_ him make her cry.

"Like, seriously, what did he do _now_?" Kitty asked with a sigh, she sounded less than interested and Rogue wished she hadn't bothered to ask at all so she could get on with pretending like nothing had happened and just focus on feigning interest in the reading material her teachers had given her.

"He's doin' this whole _poor me, poor me,_ thing in the hallway last night, and Ah wasn't fallin' for it," Rogue said quietly, to avoid being heard by the other nearby students. "He wants a pity party and Ah'm not throwin' him one."

Kitty shook her head in disgrace. "The guy is _blind,_ give him a break."

"Ah'm tired of givin' him breaks. He wants to sob and cry and whine like a kid, then let him. Ah'm through with it."

"He needs help, Rogue. It like, _can't_ be _easy_ tryin' to adjust to life as a _blind_ person."

"He doesn't want help, he was to sit and blame Scott for his own Goddamn idiocy," Rogue grumbled.

Kitty gave a laugh, "Rogue...seriously...Scott _does_ have some kinda blame here. I mean he took the shot and he shouldn't have...we all know it was a stupid thing to do in a Chemical plant."

"If Scott _took _that shot, it's because he thought he didn't have a choice. Scott's _not_ one-hundred-percent to blame for this and you _know_ that. If Gambit hadn't been there..."

"Hey, _if_ is a pretty big word. And anyway...if it helps him by complaining about it, then let him...he just lost his sight...maybe for the rest of his life..." Kitty kept her voice low. "So let him cry all he wants about Scott bein' stupid and it bein' Scott's fault. He'll get over it eventually."

"You don't _really_ believe this is all Scott's fault do you?" Rogue asked.

"No, I don't believe it's _all_ his fault but it doesn't _bother_ me. And I don't know why it _bothers_ you so much, either," Kitty answered. "You're supposed to be helping Gambit, not looking for the _blame_. It's all done now...it can't be changed. Got to just move on, and help him figure out how to cope until the Professor can fix his eyesight up."

"Ah'm not helpin' him any more, Kitty. He's a jack-ass. He's a selfish, mean and annoying jack-ass."

Kitty chewed her pencil thoughtfully for a moment, "wow, he really _got_ to you, didn't he?"

Rogue said nothing, she just sighed angrily.

"What'd he _say_ to, like, get you so _mad_?"

"Nothing_._"

"Like, it doesn't _seem _like nothing."

"Doesn't matter. It's all in the past," Rogue reached over and took her book back, she opened it calmly this time, and began to flick through the pages carefully. "He's burned his bridges with me. Ah'm through with helpin' his pathetic ass, and that's all there is to say on the matter."

* * *

It took Remy some time to find the Professor's office, located on the ground floor of the mansion. He remembered about the crystal door-knob, but had a hard time locating it exactly and went along the same four hallways several times until he eventually stumbled upon it, twenty minutes after Storm had come to his room to advise him the Professor wanted to see him immediately.

_Not so immediate,_ thought Remy as held onto the doorknob and stopped himself from walking him, he knocked briefly and waited for a response.

"Yes?"

Remy entered the room and it was the first time he had done so. He felt the hardwood floor beneath his stocking feet as he went to close the door behind himself.

"Ah, Remy, there you are."

"Sorry took so long. Couldn' find the right door."

"It's fine. I'm glad you managed it – and without help. About twelve steps ahead of you there's a chair, please sit down, won't you?"

Remy took slow careful steps, arm held out in front of him until his fingertips collided with the back of the wooden chair. He got into it awkwardly, having to sit sideways upon it then turn himself around rather than pull it out and sit down normally. He'd tried to sit down the normal way a few times, and somehow always ended up on the floor in the end; this seemed a much less humiliating strategy even if it did probably look slightly strange to the normal _seeing_ person.

"How are you feeling?" asked the Professor; Remy could hear the distinct sound of a drawer being opened, papers being rustled, then the drawer being closed, a soft thud as it landed in place against the desk the Professor was apparently sitting at.

"Fine," Remy replied with a shrug. How _was_ he supposed to answer such a question? He of course didn't feel fine, he was very unhappy here. He wanted his sight back and wanted out of this place and away from bad feelings and conflict.

"How is your wrist?"

"Itches and stings like a motherfucker," Remy said quickly, then regretted his language. "Sorry," he apologised sincerely.

The Professor paused, seeming a little offended only momentarily (Remy could somehow sense it), then he spoke once again, "it itches, you say?"

"Y' know...when Hank did th' temporary stitches...didn' feel 'em at all...Doc at the hospital did them...itches and pulls all the time now," Remy confessed.

"May I have a look?" asked the Professor; there was a snap of rubber. A glove, perhaps, Remy thought.

"Might as well," Remy responded, his voice full of despair, "'cause I can't."

He heard the Professor's electric wheelchair motor as the older man approached; his wrist was placed upon the desk, and the bandages were adjusted as Remy sat patiently at let his wound be examined. He felt the light and clinical touch of rubber against his wrist. Yes, definitely a glove.

"It's slightly inflamed," said the Professor, "this was quite poorly done – shoddy work for a doctor! It's no wonder it's uncomfortable. But don't worry...Hank is _excellent _at suturing and should be able to make you more comfortable."

"I guess there'll be a scar..."

"Yes."

Remy sighed, "this all y' wanted t' talk to me about?"

"No," said the Professor, "Logan informed me that you and Rogue were arguing very early this morning in the upstairs hallway. Is everything alright?"

With a snort, Remy remarked, "I guess."

"You _guess_?"

"I guess she ain' _talkin'_ to me. At the moment, anyhow."

"I was always under the impression that you and Rogue got along rather well..."

"Sometimes."

"What was the argument about?"

"She don' like me _complainin' _about bein' blind and all that."

"I see," responded the Professor, he took a moment to consider this while Remy listened to the ticking of a clock somewhere nearby, and what sounded to be the crackling of a fire.

"She thinks I'm bein' a _baby_..." Remy grumbled, "_remindin' _me people get blinded every day and get on with things as best they can and that instead o' bitchin' about it I should just figure things out and get on with my life..." he left off.

"And how do you feel about that?"

"It's hard t' _not_ be mad about it. I went from bein' perfectly fine t' bein' disabled in a heartbeat. No one _gets_ how it feels!"

"No one?" asked the Professor, his voice light; Remy could almost _hear_ the ironic laugh.

It took a moment for Remy to realise what he'd said, "Uh...sorry...I..." he chewed the inside of his cheek while he tried to think of his apology, "I jus'...I guess it never occurs t' me that y' disabled y'self..."

"You think the chair is just for aesthetics? Sheer laziness, perhaps?" the Professor asked, a slight laugh passing his lips.

"Sorry." Remy would have never imagined at any point in his life having to apologise to the any of the X-Men quite so much, especially not the Professor himself.

"I understand how you feel, Remy. I really do. You're angry. You went from being able bodied and independent to being left in the dark with no independence of your own left. It's hard – I completely understand that."

"Y' do?" Remy wondered about this; how did blindness compare with being in a wheelchair?

"Do you think I adjusted to a wheelchair overnight?"

Remy considered this, and sighed. None of this had really occurred to him, it hadn't even occurred to him if anyone _would_ understand, it would be the Professor himself.

"I know how _soul_ destroying it is to lose a part of yourself that you were dependent upon. How suddenly your life feels ruined by the fact you can no longer do what you used to. I've _experienced_ the humiliation of needing to be taken to the bathroom, needing help with washing, with getting around..." the Professor soothed.

"How'd y' get through it?"

"I had Magnus," said Professor Xavier calmly.

Had Remy's eyes not been taped over with sterile cotton, he felt perhaps he may have blinked. _"Magneto?_"

_"_I fell into a deep depression after my accident. I didn't want to go anywhere, do anything, and didn't want to see anyone. But Magnus was never one to mollycoddle and encourage self pity."

Remy listened, his stomach slightly churning at his own foolishness.

"He taught me I would only ever be _helpless_ if I wished it upon myself. And he was right."

How could he respond to this; there _were_ no responses to this.

"I understand you need time to adjust and that you're _angry_, but feeling sorry for yourself will only hinder you and hold you back. It may take some time for us to find a solution to your problem, and in the meantime, picking fights with the _one_ person who _can_ help you adjust might _not_ be the best way to go about things."

"Maybe y' right," Remy uttered. "Can't help it though. Never used t' be so argumentative...but I can't help myself sometimes."

"Do try. If you feel the need to _complain_ or ask for _advice_ about how to cope with your temporary disability...you're always welcome to come to me. In the meantime, I would advise to reconcile your differences with Rogue and perhaps she will agree to help you again."

* * *

Rogue dallied in going home. She didn't feel like getting home to most likely be forced to help Remy LeBeau regardless of his cruel remarks from the night before. She stopped at the music store, and bought some CDs then she went for a Grande Latte and a banoffee pecan muffin at the Bayville Coffee house where she read nearly three chapters of her book as she sipped from the giant Latte and picked at the muffin, not quite hungry enough to devour the whole thing.

"You can't avoid coming home forever."

She didn't even need to look up from her book to recognise Logan's voice; she did look up, however, to glance out of the large window to her right to find that it had already begun to get dark outside, and it was raining. Her eyes shifted from the window to Logan, he sat there, his hair damp, his leather biker jacket splattered.

"Ah wasn't _avoiding_ anything," Rogue said sullenly, she glanced to her cup of cold coffee – it wasn't as appetising as it had been an hour and a half ago. "Ah was reading."

"Yeah. I know. I passed by two hours ago and you were still drinking from this same cup. You're stalling," said Logan. He called out to the girl at the counter, "Hey, can I get a coffee over here? Just plain black, none of that fancy stuff, no fancy exotic flavours, no foam, no dustin' of cinnamon and caramel...just a Cup of Joe!"

Rogue had to smile just a little at the blank look on the girl's face before she picked up a cup from behind the counter.

Logan leaned forward on the table, "so what's goin' on, Rogue? Why you hanging here when you could be reading at home?"

"Ah needed time away from the place...just needed some space to _breathe_," said Rogue with a sigh, she placed the bookmark at her page and closed the book gently, laying it down on the table. "It's been a stressful week."

"With Gambit?"

"Maybe," Rogue said, her cheeks grew scarlet. "He's so..." she paused, it was hard to find the words for what exactly Remy LeBeau was...there were so many to choose from.

"He's goin' through a rough time. And you know that. I don't particularly like the guy, either, Rogue. But I can cut him some slack 'cause I know it's hard to lose your sight and think it's permanent."

"Really?" she asked, she picked a small chunk off the muffin carcass and popped into her mouth.

"'Bout ten years ago, was fighting with Sabretooth and he threw acid in my face while trying to make a getaway. I must have lay there for about two days in agony, couldn't see, couldn't do _anything._ Wasn't even sure if my powers had it in them to heal through it. I was lucky enough to have friends to take me in...get me through it...but for a while there...I was so blind I thought I'd never see again."

Rogue stared down at the table.

Logan helped himself to a piece of her muffin, "Gumbo doesn't have _friends,_ Rogue. Closest he has is _you. _He went from bein' completely independent from being dependent on _you. _You gotta get it through your head, Rogue...it's humiliatin' for him..."

"Ah _get_ that he's in pain. And Ah _get_ that he's humiliated and depressed, and all the rest. But he won't help _himself._"

"Then use another tactic," suggested Logan with a frown, "But do it. He needs you...and I don't care right now what personal beef you have with him and I don't care that he crushed all your hopes that maybe one day One-Eye might actually look in your direction..."

Rogue raised her eyes to Logan, her face was so hot she was sure he would feel it all the way at the other side of the table. Her jaw dropped and she tried to respond but he didn't give her enough time to do so.

"Yeah, Rogue, I heard the whole thing," said Logan grumpily, "can't have extra-sensitive hearing and not pick up on people yelling down the hall."

"Oh," Rogue said quietly.

"Get over whatever your problem is with him, and help him. We don't know how long it'll be before the Prof _can_ help him get his sight back, and in the meantime, he needs some kind of independence so he _can _do everyday things just like the rest of us. And you're the only one in the mansion who's had any experience of what it's like living with a blind person."

The girl from behind the counter arrived with the cup of coffee, she put it down in front of Logan, and Logan reached into his pocket for the cash, he slapped three dollar bills on the table and advised her to just keep the change.

"You can still hate him, secretly, if you _need_ to," Logan shrugged after taking a sip from the coffee cup; apparently it was too hot and burned his lips because winced slightly although Rogue knew the sensation wouldn't bother him long enough for it to matter. He frowned and put the cup back down before finishing his thought. "Just _get along_ with him in the meantime. And that's _not_ a request. It's an _order._"

* * *

Remy LeBeau lay in the dark of his guest room. He wasn't sure if it was dark or not...instinctively he'd felt around for a light switch upon being led to the room after dinner by Jean Grey. It was odd...he still instinctively reached out for light switches whenever he awoke too, somehow forgetting his condition...thinking he could just switch on a light and his vision would be back again.

The bed was uncomfortable, the covers beneath his fingers were rough, slightly starchy, and the room was too warm and stuffy. The mansion made noises at night, mostly old pipes and heating which clanged and slightly creaked and he was more aware of it than perhaps he thought he should have been. The utter silence other than the settling of the mansion though told him it must have been late...or early.

His bedroom door creaked. Just a little at first and he lay still, listening, trying not to breathe so his hearing wouldn't be compromised by it. Was it just a slight breeze from an open window causing this? Or was it something else?

Another creak, door open a little more, and a footstep light upon the hard wooden floors, the creak of them shifting under someone's weight.

He didn't exactly know the blueprint of the room but he knew that the door was at his back, judging by the direction the sound was coming in.

Slap, slap, slap, the gentle sounds of bare feet padding across the wood, then the soft muddled brushing of them across the rug. Something told him right away that the light footstep had to be female, there was just something about that pace, something about the shuffling seemed to suggest it.

The mattress shifted near his legs, and he felt it buckle; someone was sitting...or kneeling there. He didn't feel the rest of the mattress move under hands so he could only gather someone was sitting there.

A fresh smell gently caressed his senses...almost earthy, reminding him of the woods after rainfall. He tried not to breathe it in deep and give away the secret that he was awake, although it was pleasant and took him to places he had not thought of for a long time.

Softly, a sigh came. And he recognised it at once...it was what made him instinctively call her name. "Rogue?"

A pause, a gentle shuffle as she shifted on the mattress. "Ah thought you were asleep."

"Then why sit there?" he couldn't hide the irritation in his tone but tried to remember what the Professor had advised him about making amends and hoped he would be able to make himself much more congenial to her.

"Ah wanna know why."

He turned onto his back and sighed too, "You wan' know what?"

Her voice...it sounded almost pained when she responded. "Why you think he won't _love_ me back."

And there it was. It was still all she cared about...it was all she ever would care about. After all of this...all she cared about was Scott Summers.

A deep breath, another moment of lingering in silence before she spoke again. "Is it just because Ah can't _touch_ him?"

Remy rolled onto his side to face the direction he felt her in, and he leaned up, propping himself on his elbow. "Ain' about that, chere."

"Then what?" she demanded, she then rethought her tone and lowered her voice. "How can you know he'll never love me...how do you know _anythin'..._you're a stranger in this house...you've never spent time with him...you don't know him...how can you _tell_ what he's thinkin'?" her voice was angry...full of hurt and sadness. He hated himself for making her sound that way...for making her _feel_ that way.

"It ain' about _you._ It about _her. _I hear the way he talk to Jean...he besotted. No girl ain' never gon' come between them two, not even you."

Rogue remained still...as if she were contemplating his words.

"Y' don' think when I _was_ able t' see I couldn' figure out how the way t'ings are with _him and her_? Y' t'ink I could miss somethin' so blatantly obvious?"

He heard her sniffle, he hoped to God she wasn't crying. There was something so horribly pitiful about a woman crying he couldn't bear.

"I stood in them shadows and _watched..._I was there _every step_, watchin' you all under _Magneto_'s orders. I didn' need a microscope to see the chemistry there, chere...I saw him with her...no boy could look at a girl _that_ intensely wit'out bein' deep in love..." Remy gave her a moment, to see if she had anything to say...but she didn't even give a peep. He sighed and continued. "And I watched _you_, chere...I watched you _watchin'_ him. Pinin' for him...breakin' your _heart_ every time he looked at her the way you wanted him to look at _you. _It _hurt_ to watch!"

The bed shifted; she'd stood up, he heard her walking away, her feet padding across the wooden floor again. He sat up straight, pushing his hair out of his face and sighing tiredly, "I remember this one day..._Valentines _day..."

She stopped so suddenly, he heard her standing there, her hand was poised on the door handle, he heard it clicking slightly beneath her fingers.

"They weren' even _datin' _yet...but y' could _see_ it was in the cards. They were the King and Queen o' hearts and y' only had to see they were jus' waitin' for the right hand so they'd end up next t' each other..."

Rogue's breath gave an uneasy shudder.

"You'd been doin' this whole..._moonin' around _thing hopin' he was gonna ask you out for Valentines day. I'd seen y' droppin' hints t' him all week but...he was dense, y'know...jus' caught up in thinkin' about _her._"

He could tell just by the sound of her breathing, the way she shifted that she was upset, but he couldn't stop himself now. "So there you were...hopin'...prayin' he was gon' come t' y', ask y' out...and it hadn't happened all day. You were standin' outside talkin' to a handheld mirror at Lunch time...away all on y' own. Y' were practisin' how you was gon' ask him out for coffee. I knew that day that y' were gonna get y' hopes crushed. I _wanted_ to stop you...wanted to intervene before y' had the chance 'cause I _knew_ he'd already asked Red out for ice cream after school...but it woulda blown my cover if I came up to you and stopped you."

She had no response to this, he was surprised she didn't yell right then at him for having spied on her _then_.

"I had to stand there and let it happen. I had to stand there...and watch you get your heart broke when you asked on _valentines day _if he wanted to go to coffee with you and he said he already had plans...with her."

Rogue gave a shuddering sigh.

"Quite frankly...maybe I shoul' be _thankful_ I'm _blind,_ non?"

With a quivering breath, she quietly asked, "why's that?" he could hear the tears in her voice; if they weren't already staining her pale cheeks, he knew they were soon to come.

He sighed, "'Cause I don' think I could _watch_ you get y' heart broke again."

There was a click; the door had closed and she'd left him. Now, he was alone with the darkness and his thoughts...and once again he was kicking himself for saying the wrong thing.

DIVDIV-DIVDIVDIVDIV-DIVDIVDIVDIV-DIVDIVDIVDIV-DIVDIVDIVDIV-DIVDIVDIVDIV-DIVDIVDIVDIV-DIVDIV

Rogue didn't sleep at all that night. Every time she tried she could hear Remy's voice as if it lived in her head along with her own. The last few days events kept replaying to her, audio memories that wouldn't erase.

One thing struck her so coldly that Remy didn't think he could watch her have her heart broken again. It seemed odd to her he wouldn't want to see her suffer after he had so many times already blatantly tried to make her do so. Perhaps to gloat at someone else's suffering was only truly fulfilling if you were the one that caused it.

No matter how long she lay in bed listening to loud music through her iPod and trying to squeeze the thoughts out of her mind, nothing worked, and she eventually pulled herself out of bed at five-fifty-five am.

There was almost always something needing done in the mansion that she could distract herself with, she realised as she padded across the slightly cold floor in her bare feet and made her way to the door.

Opening the door, she was surprised to find Remy LeBeau there for the second early morning in a row; his hair greasier than before, his bed clothes wrinkled, his face unshaven. He wouldn't have looked out of place with a paper cup and a blanket sitting out on the street as a homeless person, she realised. He didn't even look like himself anymore.

"Remy..." she said in surprise.

He raised his head, although he'd never see her, and he let out a resonant sigh that sounded so very defeatist. "Did I wake y'?"

"No...Ah...Ah had my alarm set early," she swallowed the taste of the lie and it didn't go down well. She stared down at him as he twirled a loose thread he'd obviously pulled from his pyjama top around his finger until it was almost purple.

"Didn' hear it," he remarked.

"It's on my _iPod_, Ah had earphones in," she furthered the lie, hating that it felt necessary to do so. Why lie? Was it humiliating to have him know that his remarks had kept her up all night? Couldn't it just be coincidence that she hadn't slept very well at all?

He yanked the piece of thread away from his finger, only to immediately wrap it around his finger again idly, what she could see of his expression was strangely tight; the angles of his jaw seemed so much sharper due to his five day growth, although his face seemed somewhat fuller, if not slightly dirtier.

"Is...everythin'..." she trailed off. She wanted to ask if everything was all right, but something stopped her. Did she really want to re-open the same can of worms?

He gave another sigh, this one long, his chest sinking so much that for a moment, Rogue thought it might just cave in. It sounded horribly pathetic and it made her feel so incredibly sad for him at that moment.

"I can't _remember_ what y' look like."

She gave a strange laugh that came out partly as a gasp and partly as a snort, "what?"

"I can't _see _y' any more...So it's hard t' know...when I've gone too far...and said the wrong thing and too much o' it, y' know?" he asked quietly. "'Cause I can't _see _it in y' face...in y' eyes..."

Rogue leaned back against the wall, she folded her arms around herself insecurely and watched him from where she stood.

"All I got now...is the sound o' y' voice..." he wet his lips, Rogue could see from where she stood they were slightly dry and chapped from the cold weather and the heating in the mansion. "And I heard the upset in y' voice last night..."

She looked away from him, it was hard to see him even if it was impossible for him to meet her eyes. She pursed her lips and clenched her jaw to keep herself from reacting emotionally.

"Thing is...I been up _all night_ thinkin' about why I can't seem t' keep my mouth shut..." he confessed, "And...part o' me is wonderin' maybe if it's 'cause I can't _see_ anythin' in you...that I gotta provoke y' t' hear it...y' know?"

"No," she answered, and swallowed hard. "Ah don't."

"It's like...the only _picture_ in my head of y' I _have right _now is...of y' bein' angry. Hearin' y' _yell_ at me...curse at me...brings that picture back t' me, y' know? For a minute, I can clearly _remember_ how y' looked..."

She snorted and pushed herself off the wall, "why would you need a picture of me in your head, Remy?"

His expression – what she could see of it – was so incredibly serious. "'Cause y' the only person I trust around here..."

Rogue was stunned by this admission, she stared at him in disbelief, unable to quite respond. How _could_ he think of trusting her? She certainly _didn't _trust him.

"Y' saved my life. Took me bein' awake all night t' realise I never even said _thank you_..."

"Ah didn't _save _your life, Remy..." she shook her head at him. She was still so uncomfortable with the idea of his life having been in her hands. It didn't give her any power, it made her feel helpless. She didn't want to be responsible for his life, and she didn't want praise to have saved it.

"I meant t' thank y' the night it happened...when we were standin' at the front door and y' said y' just finished cleanin' the floor...couldn't get the words out...f' some reason."

"Oh," Rogue managed, she felt a slight headache coming on from the sleep deprivation.

"Not often I have trouble get'n' words out, chere. But it was hard t' say thank y' for savin' me in front of the man who has t' help me wipe my ass."

Rogue made a face at the thought, "Ah don't need thanks, Remy. Ah don't even _want_ thanks. Ah just want to be able to get through the day without bein' accused of bein' unfair...or unreasonable..." she drew her breath, "Ah want to be able to get through the day without feelin' like _crap_ because Ah tried to help you and you wanted to pick fights instead..."

"I'm sorry."

"You're a mess, LeBeau," she said suddenly, perhaps it was just to deflect, but she couldn't help herself. "Your hair is greasy, your face is scraggy, your fingernails are _filthy_..."

"I know," he replied, he seemed rather resigned to the fact.

"Maybe now would be a good time to teach you how to use the shower..." she reasoned.

"Y' still gon' help me after all we said?"

"Ah said Ah would help you and Ah _will_."

* * *

Remy stood in the darkness listening to her as she made her rules and gave him advice on how to complete his morning ablutions. He tried to remain patient while wondering how it could be that taking a shower had suddenly become so much more complicated than he had ever imagined it could be.

"When you take a shower in here, you're _gonna_ have to live by rules and tricks to find your way around things. The shower-stall is completely glass – it's supposedly shatter-proof, but a few months back Hank broke the _last_ one with his elbow accidentally so be careful about walking around in here."

"Gotcha," he said, standing in what he assumed to be the doorway. For all he knew, he may have still been out in the hall. No, he had to be near or in the bathroom; his own voice sounded slightly different in here than it did in the hall. He wondered if Rogue would be proud that he'd noticed.

"You absolutely under no _circumstances_ are _ever_ to lock the door. If you lock it and you fall or slip and crack your head or somethin' it'll be hard to get to you immediately – these doors have a _lead_ lining in the centre of the wood..."

"Y' need _lead_ in the middle of your doors? Who the hell y' tryin' to keep out? Y' afraid Superman's gonna come and look through the doors at y' while y' showerin'?" he cracked.

"It's a safety thing...if we ever get attacked or invaded and someone isn't in the position to _defend_ themselves, the bathrooms are completely safe – there's even a shudder that comes over the window from the inside – it's hidden in the wall."

All jokes aside, he found it now completely unsettling that the door needed lead through it. He'd never quite imagined the X-Men's home may be under such risk of attack that such security precautions might actually be necessary.

"Okay...fine...I won't lock the door. But what if someone jus' walk _in_?"

"This is a _guys_ bathroom. Only guys will come here..." Rogue explained, "other than me...right now...obviously."

"Obviously."

"The first thing you're gonna want to do is take one of the towels above the radiator and put it on the floor with the long edge meeting the shower stall. The towel is about the size of the floorspace you'll have freely to walk around so you'll know exactly where you are – it'll stop you bumping into things."

"Okay."

"The radiator is by the door but if you can't find it while you're in here, feel around for the heat source; the bathroom radiators are _always_ on in the winter."

He reached out for a moment, his hand brushing what he was almost positive might be her backside; she flinched away from him and he mumbled an insincere apology.

"There..." she grabbed his arm and placed it against the towel rail, "try not to touch the radiators; they're old as hell and tend to get way too hot."

"Y' got all this new technology and your radiators are prehistoric?" he asked with a smirk.

"Don't think it hasn't been brought up," Rogue replied, "shower is a few feet behind you..." he heard her taking a towel from the rail and putting it upon the floor for him. "There's a little corner shelf to the left in the stall. When you get in, the door is to your right – be careful and slide it closed all the way or the water leaks out everywhere...when you want to turn the shower on, you just feel for the button; there's only one dial and you turn it left for cold and right for hot. Ah would advise turnin' it most the way left first before you get in, and then feelin' it as you're turnin' it right just to figure out what temperature you want the water to be, instead of accidentally scaldin' yourself."

"Good idea," he said, trying to make a mental note of all these rules.

"Ah stole one of Scott's terrycloth robes for you to pull on when you get out of the shower – it'll save you having to dry off with towels and stop you from bumping into crap..."

"That's...thoughtful," he grimaced at the thought of wearing more of Scott Summer's clothes. Especially clothes the boy had worn over a completely naked body. "Please say it's clean?"

"Ah took it out of the dryer," she promised. "The bottle of shower gel is on the little shelf in the corner; just use that for your hair too."

"What about a razor?"

"Uhm...Ah don't think so...not yet, anyway. Ah'm sure someone around here has an electric one you can borrow...Ah'll help you with that once you get out."

He sighed as he let his fingers gently caress the cold textured glass of the shower stall.

"Oh, and here..." she said.

"Hmm?"

She took a hold of his arm to force what felt to be a long rubber glove onto his hand, pulling it right down to his wrist; he felt the dry talcum-y texture of it rub against his forearm. "You're not allowed to get that bandage wet," she explained, he felt her snap something in place near the edge of the glove.

"What's this?"

"A dishwashing glove and a rubber band. It'll stop the water from getting in."

"Y' really are _good_ with this stuff, aren't y'?"

"That's why Ah was asked to help," she reminded. "Ah'll wait outside for you...so if you run into any problems...just yell and Ah'll be able to answer. Okay?"

"Okay," he nodded. "I trust y'."

* * *

Rogue sat upon the floor in the hallway just as Remy had done only twenty minutes before. She listened to the sound of the water as it was run; it seemed to run for some time without interference, as she assumed Remy awkwardly tried to figure out what temperature he wanted the water to be before even getting in.

It had occurred to her before of course that it must have been difficult trying to adjust to his new life as a blind person, but this was the first time she had really considered how horrible his darkness must have been. For days he hadn't had any privacy at all, and had to be helped in and out of showers and baths, helped to go to the bathroom. Things she had always taken for granted were right now, Remy LeBeau's personal hell. She hoped that at least giving him this little slice of independence for now would help him adjust much more easily.

She let her head rest against the wall and the rhythmic drumming of the water against the base of the stall lulled her into drifting off into a brief uneasy sleep. When she _did_ eventually hear Remy's voice as he called for her, she realised it wasn't the first time he'd called her, there was something of irritation and a vague sense of panic about the way he called for her.

"Rogue? _Rogue?"_

She sleepily rubbed her eyes and stood up, "uh huh?" she asked loudly.

"What the fuck? Y' said y' would be outside..."

"Ah was," she assured.

"I called y' name like eight times..."

"Ah'm here! Are you decent yet?"

"Yeah, I'm out."

She tentatively opened the door and only peered through to check he was wearing the robe. Thankfully he was. She sighed in relief and stepped inside.

"Y' can't jus' _leave_ me like that," he said suddenly to her, looking extremely upset from the eyes down. "I dunno where the fuck I am in this place...I dunno how t' find my way out of here and back t' my room..."

"Sorry..."

"Sorry ain' _good_ enough, y' _promised_ y' would _be_ there!"

"Ah fell asleep..."

He stopped suddenly, his mouth tightened, and he gave an awkward, "Oh."

Remy stood awkwardly, looming with his hand against the sink, the other still clad in the ridiculously pink rubber glove she'd put on him. She had to smile just a little at this. His hair hung in soaking tendrils and dripped upon his shoulders.

"Ah didn't mean to. It just happened..." she glanced up at him, taking note that the dressings on his eyes were soaked; she hadn't thought about them.

"Oh...your eyes..."

"Yeah..." he sighed, "forgot about the patches."

He stood still as she gently and carefully peeled the dressings and the damp micropore tape from his tender eyes; although for the most part his eyes were in tact, there was now extensive blistering around his lids, and bruising that she hadn't anticipated. His lids were incredibly swollen and red to the point it looked almost as if he'd been beaten up before having acid thrown in his eyes.

Remy tried to open his eyes but even this caused him pain and he winced making a sound that felt as if it almost cut her soul in half.

"Still hurt as bad?" a silly question, she decided, it had been more than obvious he was in agony.

"I can't get 'em open..."

"Your eyes are really swollen," she admitted, as she spoke she thought of how odd it might be to never see those odd eyes of his again. Rubies on black onyx...blood drops on black marble. "I think they're fused shut...don't try to open them right now...Hank can probably fix it..."

"Fix it...fix everythin'. Fix this like I'm some kind of mechanical _fault _that needs some maintenance guy t' come in and adjust a few screws and slam me a few times with a wrench like I'm a broken TV," he babbled unhappily, he raised his hand to his eyes and she knocked it away.

"Don't...you don't want to get any infection in your eyes or anything..."

"Fuckin' itches," he grumbled, dropping his hands to his hands with a sigh.

She grabbed a hold of a towel from the rail above the radiator and placed it upon his head, "Hank will probably have something to help with that..." she explained as she dried his hair, awkwardly having to stand on her tiptoes to do so, as it seemed he'd taken a stretch in the last few months suddenly. She couldn't remember him having been quite so tall before.

"I...can dry my own hair, y'know," he said, his voice thick, he stopped her, his one gloved hand – so ridiculously pink – landed upon hers slightly buried in the towel against his wet hair.

"Okay" she responded quietly, she moved away from him, her hand slipping out from under his. "You...you look a lot better now...clean."

"Certainly smell better," he admitted.

"Yeah," she said awkwardly, hovering. What now? She hadn't thought any further than helping him get to this stage and now he was there, she wasn't sure what was meant to come next.

"Not as good as you."

She blinked, "huh?"

"Y' perfume."

"Ah...don't use perfume..." she responded, completely dumbfounded where he would get such an assumption.

"Then it's somethin' y' else y' use. Deodorant...or...maybe y' shampoo or something. Y' always smell good..."

She awkwardly smelled the front of her night gown wondering if it might be the laundry detergent he was smelling, but she couldn't smell anything.

"Is...there any possibility of us get'n' _out_ of here for a little while?"

"The bathroom?" she asked confusedly.

"This whole place...the school or the institute or whatever y' call it. I'm not used t' bein' cooped up in one place too long. I need t' be somewhere else for a bit. Out for _real_ coffee...or real _food_ or somethin'."

"Ah think it's too soon, Remy..." she sighed, "You're so...Ah mean..." she tried to find the words. "You haven't been _blind_ all that long and...Ah don't wanna take you out when you're not ready to cope out there."

"Y' taught me enough t' be able to cope with the basics," he reminded.

"You just don't _get it,_ do you?" she frowned. "What if you need to go to the bathroom? Ah can't _follow _you in to help you," she reminded. "Or...if you accidentally step out in front of a car before Ah can stop you? There's so much to _consider_ before lettin' you go out there. Even Irene didn't go out alone much...the city is too hectic for a blind person sometimes, especially one who isn't _adjusted_ yet to bein' blind."

He gave a sigh, "forget it, then. I'll jus' live here 'til the end of my days listenin' to teeny-bopper music blastin' down the hall and people fightin' over bathrooms."

"Ah'm not sayin' you _won't_ be able to go outside eventually," she explained, "Ah'm just sayin'...not yet."

"Not yet feels like never, chere."

* * *

End of Part 3

Thanks to everyone who keeps reviewing and adding me to their favourites! It's you guys who keep inspiring me to go on with these stories, and it's such fun writing for you all and hearing your thoughts and opinions. I'm glad you're all enjoying this and find it an original idea (for a fanfic at least).

Oh, and as for who had asked about the Twilight reference, you never know where one might pop up eventually ;)


	4. Part 4

**Blind Leading the Blind**

**Part 4**

**Concern**

* * *

The weekend seemed to go by in a flash to Remy; for all of Saturday and Sunday, he was her student, following her voice around hallways and across rooms, trying to gain more independence over his condition by learning to do things for himself. There were many other things she had to teach him, things he wouldn't have thought possible for a non-seeing person to do.

Brushing his teeth, now, thankfully _not_ a two-man job. She taught him how to distinguish which toothbrush in the cup was his (she'd gone to lengths to damage his toothbrush by setting fire to the bottom of the handle so that it felt rough and misshapen – easy to identify). Getting the toothpaste on the brush was now easy that he understood he could hold his thumb against one side of the bristles to feel for where the minty scented gel was landing (if he missed, all he had to do was scrape it off his thumb.

There were other little tricks; getting shoes on the right feet the _first _time by running his fingers along the edge of the soles to feel for the shape of where the sole went inwards, letting him identify which shoe was which. He even now knew how to tell if his _socks_ were inside out or not before putting them on...even how to tell if his _underwear_ was inside out or not before pulling them on (feel for the seams, the side the seam stood out on was the inside).

Of course, the socks and underwear problem seemed rather unimportant, they served purpose whether inside out or not, but he did feel a sense of pride being able to _tell_ now. And he couldn't help but be impressed by the little tricks she had shared with him.

What surprised him about most of the things she had taught him over the weekend, was that for the most part they had _all_ been obvious. And yet, none of them had ever occurred to him to try to figure out for himself. He wondered if perhaps he might have figured all these things out if he had given himself a chance instead of lamenting over the fault of his condition.

When Monday morning came, he awakened a little later than he'd originally intended to. None of the usual morning noise from the students getting ready for school had even stirred him from a comfortable slumber – probably one of his best sleeps so far in the mansion.

After showering – ah, such bliss, being able to shower alone without supervision or someone hanging around on standby waiting in case he slipped or broke something – he carefully trailed what he decided to call 'the usual markers' to get downstairs. 'The Usual Markers' were flaws in the walls, the banisters, the floors, things Rogue had helped him discovered over the weekend. The little chip on the banister overlooking the foyer just before the staircase began, the way that there was a slight dip in the tiled floor just as he would approach the refrigerator in the kitchen. It was still a lot to remember, but he found that some of it – especially the more important things – were beginning to stick to his memory.

Just as he approached the bottom of the staircase – getting downstairs taking a lot less time than it used to – he heard the familiar sound of the motor on the Professor's custom built wheelchair as it approached him. Without missing a beat he said, "Bon matin, Professeur."

"Good morning to you too, Remy. You sound very...cheerful, today."

"Yeah," said Remy with a smirk, "first shower ever with _no_ supervision or people hangin' around outside."

"Sounds like you're learning quickly."

"Wish I didn' have t' learn at all."

"Yes, well, unfortunately, what's done is done, and we cannot change that," said the Professor with a soft sigh.

"Have y' found anythin' out about a cure?"

"I've been researching, but before we can consider any kind of treatments we must wait for the inflammation and blistering on your eyes to heal so we can see the real extent of the damage."

"So far it doesn' sound very good," Remy confessed, hovering at the bottom of the stairs, shifting from foot to foot anxiously.

"Don't be discouraged. We will find a way."

"It's all easy t' say that...but findin' the way doesn' sound all that simple."

"Please, keep your chin up and try and take your mind off it for now."

It was odd, Remy thought. He'd come downstairs feeling in such a good mood but how it had suddenly switched to rather bad.

"It's kinda hard t' keep my mind off this when I can't _find_ anythin' to do or somethin' t' distract me. Y' any idea how _slow_ time can pass when y' sittin' in the dark?"

"Ah," Professor Xavier responded, he sounded thoughtful. "Perhaps we can search out some Audio books for you."

"No...I don' _want _t' listen t' stories. I want t' do somethin' constructive. This is _hell_. It's like bein' in a cage...I feel like I've been cooped up for months."

"You've barely been here a week."

"A week is long enough," Remy grumbled.

* * *

The week previous and the weekend that had just passed felt it had finally begun to take its toll on Rogue. On the drive to school, she had felt achy, a dull headache persisting while Kitty and Kurt both rambled on regarding some computing class they both shared (their talk had seemed nigh on gibberish which had only seemed to make the headache worse).

By second period, her throat felt scratchy and her eyes were watering so uncontrollably that she had to keep sweeping a tissue beneath her lower lids. Her makeup had become so smudged by lunchtime that she'd finally had to just wash it all off in the girl's bathroom. She'd tried to ignore the jeers of the cheerleading squad who tended to congregate in there to catch a smoke. Normally she was called many names like 'freak', 'mutie', and 'emo-wrist cutter'. Today, it was 'drag-queen', and she was asked in a sickly sweet voice by one of the blondes if perhaps she would like a knife or some kind of chisel to scrape off the incredibly thick makeup.

Normally, she had comebacks, better insults to throw back at them, but today, she was too tired, and she felt ill and so she forced herself to let it go and left the bathrooms with her bangs slightly damp but her face clean.

"You look terrible," remarked Kitty Pryde as Rogue took a seat at their usual table in the cafeteria. Rogue had to wince at this and let out a sigh.

"Ah feel terrible," she croaked.

"You sound terrible!" Kitty blinked.

"There's a flu going around," admitted Kurt, he sucked thoughtfully on the straw of his juice box. "You might have it."

"Right now, Ah don't think there's any _might_ about it," Rogue sighed.

"Aren't you eating?" Kitty asked, noting no tray or plates of food. Only a can of diet Cherry Coke in front of Rogue.

"Ah'm not hungry. Ah just feel like hell," Rogue let her elbow rest against the table and propped her cheek up in her hand.

"Go see the nurse, maybe you'll get sent home," Kurt suggested.

Rogue considered this but shook her head, "Ah can't afford to take a day off right now. Ah'm so behind. Ah forgot to do my homework during the weekend. The Professor is gonna _kill_ me when he finds out."

"Oh man," said Kurt.

"Ah got in so much trouble in English when Ah didn't hand in my Essay...instant F."

"Not good," Kitty sighed.

"Ah don't think the Professor realised when he asked me to help Gambit it might interfere with my homework. Ah have so many responsibilities already. Training, school, chores, drama club..." Rogue groaned, "helping a blind guy _and_ keeping up with homework...it's just impossible to do it _all."_

"Maybe you should ask him for some help," Kurt shrugged.

"I, like, don't get why _Hank_ can't help Gambit," Kitty stuck a fork in her salad like a hunter drives his knife into a fresh kill. "I mean, like, he's a _doctor_. Doesn't he have experience dealing with blind people?"

"Doctors diagnose and treat," Rogue reminded. "Ah'm sure he _does_ know how to help Remy though...Ah'm sure him _and _the Prof both know how to help but...Ah'm the one who's really lived with a blind person and Ah know all of the little practical tricks to help Remy get by until they fix him."

"It's weird," Kitty said thoughtfully, she popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and chewed, "is it just me or are you on a _first name basis_ with him now?"

"Yeah!" Kurt said suddenly, "since when do you call him by his first name?"

"Ah...don't know. It's just...it's easier..." Rogue shrugged.

"Right. So..." Kurt crumpled up his juice box, "does he know _your_ name."

Rogue raised an eyebrow at him, "Y'know...Ah think maybe Ah _will_ maybe go see the nurse."

* * *

Remy had gotten to know the layout of his room pretty well over the week. He still every now and then managed to trip on the rug, but it was becoming less and less as the days wore on. He knew where the window was (that lovely feel of cold glass as he would sometimes press his forehead against it), and the door, and the dresser.

To keep himself entertained, he'd decided to continue with his daily exercise regimen regardless of his vision loss. Luckily, he didn't need vision to do push-ups, crunches or pull-ups on the closet door frame. There didn't seem to be any telling in the future of when his vision would be restored, and the more Remy thought about it the more he realised that however long it took – six months? A year? - he shouldn't sit back and relax and let himself get out of shape. When his vision _was_ restored, he would be ready to get his life back again and keeping in shape would ensure he _was_ ready.

That morning, Ororo Munro had approached him with the gift of a radio she had found in a storage room in the mansion. It was a particularly old radio. Older than he was, actually, and so, it had dials rather than the modern radios with their buttons and auto-search functions. He found this rather ideal, as the dials made it easy for him to tune into stations and find something to listen to, rather than awkwardly fumbling with buttons not sure what he was pressing. All he needed was an obvious on/off button, a tuning dial and a volume dial. He was content with this, for now.

What he had grown to love about the radio in the significantly short amount of time he'd had it was that the DJs frequently announced the date and time. It felt marvellous and despite feeling just a little silly that he found this such a boon, he was glad he would no longer have to keep wondering what time and date it was, and definitely wouldn't have to worry about asking people and feeling silly for it all the while. It was just one more temporary step in helping him gain some semblance of independence and normality again.

It was just after the 1pm news that he heard his bedroom door opening; the soft creak of the hinge gave it away followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. He stopped in the middle of a reverse crunch and inclined his head towards the door (now knowing exactly where it was) and asked, "Rogue?"

A pause, then a nervous laugh, "How'd you know it was me?"

"Y' wear heavy boots...but y' steps aren't as quite as heavy as Wolverine's," he answered.

"Oh," she replied, there was something awkward about her hovering that he could sense.

"What's wrong with y' voice?" he asked, standing up and sweeping his forearm across his sweaty brow.

"Ah think Ah'm comin' down with somethin'," Rogue replied, a sniffle followed and then he could hear the crumpling of a rather poor quality tissue. "Ah got sent home."

"No wonder y' home so early," he reasoned. He listened to her footsteps as she crossed the room. "Y' should be in bed..."

"Ah'll go in a little while..." she came back, he felt something hit his cheek and he caught it, the soft fluffy terrycloth fabric told him at once it was a towel. "Ah just wanted to check you were alright and didn't need any help or anything before Ah did."

"I'm fine," he promised, "even got a radio now. Stormy brought me it this mornin'."

He heard the mattress on his bed shift and slightly creak; she had sat down. He wiped his face off, slung the towel around his shoulders and went to sit beside her, hoping he wasn't about to land accidentally in her lap.

"Aren't you worried about getting sick?" she asked; when he sat down he felt his thigh press against hers.

"Y'know, at this stage, it's not like things could get much _worse_ for me," Remy shrugged, "I mean...I'm already _blind_, so what's a little cold gonna do?"

"Make you feel worse if you catch it," she replied. "So you're workin' out now?"

"I don' wanna get my sight back and find out I'm totally out of shape..." he reasoned. "I gotta be prepared for the day my sight _does_ get fixed...if it ever does, that is."

"It's good that you're tryin' to carry on as normal," Rogue admitted.

"Helps the time go by, I guess...it was a fast mornin'."

It surprised him when she took a hold of his left hand suddenly; at first he was confused until she turned his hand around and sighed, "You're bleeding."

"I am?" he asked.

"I think you've popped a few stitches."

"Fuck," he groaned.

"You need to be careful...this needs time to heal before you can go on as normal..."

"I felt a pull on it earlier but I figured it was jus' the bandages stuck t' the wound. Is it bad?"

"It's just a little...c'mon, I'll take you to Hank to get it fixed."

* * *

"You realise," said Hank, "that this is the _third_ time I've had to stitch this wound up?"

Rogue watched Hank McCoy carefully stitching up Remy's wrist in the sickbay. She stood by the door, arms behind her back, one foot pressed against the wall. It had been someone fascinating to see Hank suturing up the wound the first time around – especially in such a rush. This time, she was fascinated by the slow careful precision and how neatly the wound was patched up.

"Did I burst all of 'em?" Remy asked, he was sitting topless on one of the hospital beds, his arm laid across a portable table.

"Only three," said Hank, "out of eight."

"Oh."

"Exercising isn't something I wouldn't have recommended with this type of wound. What type of exercises were you doing?"

"Crunches, pull-ups and push-ups," he replied with a shrug.

"Keep still!" Hank warned sounding momentarily concerned, "crunches are fine as long as you aren't straining your wrist. Pull-ups and push-ups are an absolute _no-no_. You can't do anything that will pull on the stitches..."

Remy groaned.

"I know you aren't _fond_ of resting, but I do highly recommend it."

"Maybe y' should worry more about Rogue get'n' rest."

Rogue glared at Remy.

"Oh?" asked Hank, turning his attention to her. Rogue wondered how it could be Hank hadn't noticed her watery eyes, her running nose and her scratchy throat. Of course, if she had spoken at all it might have been more obvious she realised.

"She comin' down wit' a cold or somethin'," Remy remarked, he smirked just a little.

"It did occur to me to ask _why_ you're home so early from school," Hank admitted. "Did you go to the school nurse?" he asked. He finished with Remy's wrist, talking to her over his shoulder.

"Ah went but she wasn't there. Ah went to the principal...he wasn't there..."

"Probably together somewhere screwin'..." Remy reasoned.

"Remy!" admonished Hank.

"Ah spoke to one of the teachers, she told me just to go home."

"Probably in a closet...with the brooms and the mops...knockin' over buckets, makin' people turn their heads with the moans," Remy rambled.

"Remy!" Hank warned again.

Rogue smiled just a little and was glad that Remy was unable to see the amusement. She pursed her lips and watched while Hank finished bandaging up the newly mended wound.

"If you come over here, I'll take a look at that throat," said Hank, peeling off his surgical gloves and tossing them into the nearby bin.

Remy sat quietly, hands in lap as Rogue sat on the bed opposite, to let Hank roll his chair over to attend her with new surgical gloves on and a tongue depresser. As Hank examined her, checking her throat, feeling for swollen glands, checking her temperature, she glanced over his shoulder at Remy, who sat so idly despite he could have probably left and made his way back to his room fine.

"Your throat is very inflamed. How long has it been hurting?"

"Since this morning," she answered hoarsely. It seemed as time was progressing, she was losing her voice more and more. She could hear it in her own voice how much she sounded like a constipated frog.

"It's all the yellin' she been doin' at me," Remy teased, a grin on his sharp face.

"Yeah, well if you'd do things _right_, and _listen,_" she remarked back coolly.

"You're running a little bit of a fever, not too much to worry about, but if you start to feel flushes or chills really bad, come see me," Hank said.

"I-" she began, and then the first true cough came. It started with just one, but followed with a troop of them, one after the other, chesty and rattling.

"I have some cough syrup that'll help with that," Hank got up and wandered over to the cabinets where all the medicines were behind locked doors.

"Go t' bed, chere. Remy bring y' a nice big glass of orange juice."

"Shut up," Rogue rolled her eyes, "You can't even get yourself orange juice," she remarked. Perhaps it was just a defence mechanism that had caused her to make it sound so harsh, for when she saw the strange look on the lower half of his face – the way his jaw tightened – she realised perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to speak.

"I can get orange juice just fine," he said quietly, his posture changed, he sat more stiffly, his shoulders straight, his chin slightly up.

"Ah know..." she said quietly.

Hank returned over with a bottle of cough syrup. "Take this every four hours – don't go over the dosage."

She thanked him and accepted it. "C'mon, Remy. Ah'll take you upstairs."

"Way y' sound, chere, think maybe it's me who should take _you._"

* * *

It was painful, Remy thought, lying in the dark hearing Rogue's rattling cough down the hall. The sound seemed to echo across the whole of upstairs, and he wondered if anyone else could possibly be getting any sleep or if it was just him and his slightly more sensitive hearing (thanks to his blindness) that was being kept awake by it.

He tried listening to his radio but it didn't seem to block the sound out; when 1.35pm came (the DJ happened to announce this on the radio) he gave up and left his bedroom to follow the sound of her hacking all the way down the hall.

It wasn't hard to locate where her room was. Surprisingly, it was only four doors and across the hall away from his. He'd had no idea that her bedroom happened to be so close to his and it felt oddly comforting that she _was_ so close.

He gave a soft knock, but since her coughing was continuing, he surmised she didn't hear and so he let himself in.

"Chere?"

After another minute of persistent coughing which he decided was more painful to hear than probably felt to her, she finally spoke.

"Yeah...what is it?" she asked; her voice a vague croak in the darkness that was barely like herself; it sounded as if she'd been swallowing glass and had completely ripped up her vocal chords.

"Y' okay?"

"Ah'm fine. Just can't stop coughing."

"Y' take more of that stuff?" he came in, soft quiet steps so as not to alert anyone he was up and in someone else's room after lights out (he was sure the instructors would definitely object) and closed the door behind himself.

"Yeah. Makes me drowsy though," she sighed; he heard her shift on the bed and he approached slowly, wondering if it was acceptable for him to sit down near her or not.

"How y' feel?"

"Lousy." He heard her shifting a little more in her bed, he heard a soft sweeping sound and at first he wasn't sure what it might be but if he had to guess, he thought it might be that she'd swept her fingers through her hair.

"Y' need anything?"

"Ah'm fine..." she coughed a few times more, she was stifling it into her hand, or a tissue, or something, because it came out very muffled.

"I'm capable, y'know...if y' want me t' go get you a drink or somethin' t' ease y' throat."

"It's fine, really," she sighed.

His hand found the footboard of her bed, he leaned against it, hovering, awkward, not sure if he should go or stay. He wouldn't sleep now, knowing he'd be listening to the coughing for the rest of the night regardless. And it seemed so terribly _wrong_ to leave her alone in such a condition.

Not only did _he_ feel awkward, but he could tell she did too. There was something about the still way she remained there for several moments, as if she were waiting for something, for him to say something or do something.

"In...in all the time I know y'...followed y'...don' think I _ever_ see y' sick."

She sniffed, "yeah. Ah don't really get sick a whole lot."

"Y' let y' self get run down from all y' do around here. School, trainin', homework, y' do chores _and _y' takin' care of me. It no wonder y' body givin' in t' illness."

"How much _did_ you follow me?" she suddenly croaked.

He walked around the footboard, trailing his fingers along it to locate where he was exactly. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bottom of the bed, guiding himself with his hands. "Months. At least three straight months...then on and off for months after. Not jus' you. All of y'."

She coughed before asking, "_why_?"

"T' look for y' weaknesses. T' _evaluate_ y'...figure out how y' all worked together...how y' were in _real_ life..."

"Didn't it get borin'?"

"Not really. Was like...watchin' a livin' soap opera...all the drama goes on between y' X-Men."

"How come Logan didn't know you were spyin' on us?"

"Did a lot of it from afar," he admitted. "When I was close by, was usually when y' were at school...or at the mall...places Logan didn' usually go..." Remy explained. "I know how t' keep outta sight...it's one of the first things y' learn when y' train t' be a thief."

"So...what kind of things did you learn?" she asked in a husky tone, she cleared her throat a little; he imagined her sitting there in bed with her legs pulled up to her knees so she was a safe distance from him.

"About you?"

"Mmm," she answered.

"Y' read vampire stories."

"Everyone knows that."

"Do they know y' like them not 'cause of the romance and glamour of them but 'cause y' relate t' bein' someone who can't get close t' others 'cause of what y' are...?" he asked.

She said nothing, and he wondered about the expression on her face at that moment. What was she thinking? Had he gone too far?

"Y' wear a ring on every finger under y' gloves _except_ y' left hand ring finger."

"Is that important?" she asked as casually as she could with a sore throat.

"Means y' waitin' for someone t' put a ring on that finger. Y' traditional...even if y' give off the impression that y' _not_."

"Ah just haven't found a ring that Ah _like_ on that finger."

"Y' listen t' music that's loud and obnoxious when y' friends are around but when y' alone y' listen t' Billie Holiday."

She let out a strange breath that seemed to sound oddly uncomfortable with his knowledge.

"I can even tell y' the song y' listened t' the most by her."

"And what's that?"

"_Lover Man,_" he answered simply.

"How..." she began, she cleared her throat, "How do you _know_ that?"

"Found y' MP3 player in the library one day when y' had been there. Who y' think handed it in t' the lost and found so y' could get it back?" he pointed out. "It was the most played track on it."

She sighed, "so you think you _know_ me just 'cause you know Ah listen to Billie Holiday and read vampire books?"

"I know y' enough t' make me wan' t' know y' better."

A strange pause. He could tell she didn't know what to make of this comment. It had come as quite a surprise to her, although he wondered why it had.

"I...better get back t' bed before someone does a bed check and finds me _not_ in mine. If y' need me for anything...call me."

Somehow, he knew she wouldn't and yet...as he left the room, quietly pulling the door closed, he couldn't help wish that she would.

* * *

Rogue felt terrible that next morning; it took her all her time to pull herself out of bed to get ready for school only to be warned she couldn't go to school and to go back to bed and rest.

Although she certainly tried to rest, by nine-thirty am, she couldn't stand laying in bed with nothing to do; she tried her homework but found it incredibly hard to concentrate – it was certainly hard to write neatly while coughing chronically all over her paper.

It didn't surprise her when Remy LeBeau knocked on her bedroom door a little after eleven and poked his head in through the door. Although he couldn't see her, Rogue had the strangest sense that he could sense exactly where she was, exactly how she looked, and probably even knew exactly what she was wearing. It sent a strange chill through her.

"How y' feelin'?"

"Shitty," she croaked, crumpling up the history paper she'd been working on and tossing it to the waste paper basket near her desk (it narrowly missed). "Ah didn't sleep much last night...but then Ah guess you knew that."

"Yeah," he let himself in but left the door open this time; it struck Rogue as strange that he deliberately did so.

"Why are you leaving the door open like that?" she put her book aside.

"Storm's orders."

Rogue wondered what in the world Ororo – or anyone for that matter – thought that Remy would be capable of doing with a girl who couldn't touch people. "That's...yeah, okay," she blinked.

Remy folded his arms comfortably as he stood hovering at the bottom of her bed, "She don' trust me."

"Can you blame her?" Rogue asked. "You won't even tell us who you were working for."

He gave a long pause, his face so serious, his mouth so tight that she could almost imagine his lips glued together. Finally, he responded with, "Told y'...it's policy. Y' don' reveal who y' clients are in my line of work."

She coughed into a tissue, "what if he was gonna use those chemicals in a bomb...Ah mean...he could be a _terrorist_ for all we know."

"They weren' for a bomb," Remy replied, something about the way he said it left Rogue wondering more about who Remy had been working for, and what the plans had been for those chemicals had there not been an accident leaving Remy blinded.

"Sounds like you _knew_ what they were for," Rogue pointed out.

He was uncomfortable, and she could _see_ he was uncomfortable. Rogue wouldn't have thought it possible to make Rmey LeBeau uncomfortable but there he was, shifting almost nervously, not wanting to give straight answers. "I'm not a scientist...I dunno what they were..."

"That wasn't what Ah asked. Ah didn't ask what the chemicals _were. _Ah asked what they were _for_."

"Look, I was jus' under orders. Sometimes this job is ask _no_ questions. Less y' know, the better. "

"That's bullshit," she grunted, "this guy...he could be buildin' some huge nuclear weapon that could make us all _glow in the dark_...or plannin' chemical warfare on Bayville, and you're sittin' there goin' about _ask no questions_..." she griped.

"Y' always expect the worse of people?"

"If this guy wasn't gonna use these chemicals for some kind of _illegal_ activity, he'd have never stolen them, he'd have purchased them legitimately. Hasn't _that_ crossed that stupid dumb swamp-filled mind of yours?"

"For all y' know...he was gonna do some _good_ with it," Remy reasoned, the lower half of his face quite grim.

She sat straighter, frowning at him, "But you don't know that! Like you _said!" _she mimicked his voice, "_less y' know, the better._"

He stood up slowly, "why y' always gotta be bustin' my balls?"

"Because Ah don't _trust_ what you were doin' at that chemical plant, Remy," she wheezed.

"If y' don' trust me, that's _your_ problem, chere."

"How can you expect me to _trust_ you, Remy? You openly _admitted_ to stalkin' me and my friends."

"It wasn't personal..." he replied, his expression grim again. "I mean _really,_ chere. Is there a difference between _me_ followin' you around and _you_ followin' Cyclops around like a little lost puppy?" he asked after reaching the door.

"Ah _loved_ Scott," she shot angrily in a deep and painful throaty tone. She regretted admitting it even if it was old news.

"Yeah...okay," he sighed. He left the room as quietly as he'd entered; the door closed behind him.

Angrily, she grabbed her history book and threw it at the door so that it thudded off. She was sure even from the hall he would have heard that.

* * *

End of Part Four

Thanks to everyone who keeps adding me to their favourites and for the awesome reviews! I love reading them and it makes my day seeing new ones coming in!

Sorry this installment took so long to get added - been working on the next two parts :)


	5. Part 5

**Blind Leading the Blind**

**Part 5**

**Infection**

* * *

Remy was angry.

He was angry at what had begun as a concerned visit to make sure Rogue was all right had quickly turned into a relatively calm argument mostly defensive from his side. He was angry that she had been so pushy about getting answers.

Most of all, he was angry with himself for walking out.

He had heard something hit the door on the other side as he'd stood there in the hall; she'd actually had the audacity to _throw_ something and for a moment, he wondered if he should go back and yell at her about it. He thought the better of it and walked away from the door, stopping every few steps to sigh and try to get his breath back; the discussion had left him feeling breathless and he couldn't pinpoint why.

When he was at least what he assumed to be half-way across the hall, he heard a heavy footstep, and knew at once who it was. Only the man known as _Logan_ could have a footstep that heavy with that Adamantium skeleton of his.

"If you can't get along with Rogue, maybe you shouldn't hang around her," Logan suggested grumpily, another few steps. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. "What business is it of yours?" Remy mumbled.

"Plenty, when it seems you two can't go a day without wantin' to tear each other a new one."

Not true, Remy thought. Hadn't they gone almost the whole weekend and yesterday without any negativity? Instead of answering, he stubbornly tried to pass by, and felt his upper arm slam into what felt like rock. "Oww!" he moaned and put his hand against his arm in pain.

"Don't try to shove past a guy who has a skeleton made of metal," advised Logan, sounding almost amused.

"I didn't try t' _shove_. I can't see shit...and y' didn't even have the _decency_ t' step aside."

"You knew I was there," Logan pointed out. "You just have a temper."

Remy leaned against the nearest wall, gripping his shoulder, he said nothing.

"And she's right, by the way. You can't be trusted. If you weren't blind...you wouldn't be here."

"If I wasn' blind I wouldn't wan' be here," Remy retorted. "All I wan' do is get my sight back an' get the fuck out of this place. I wish y' would all leave me alone!"

"Fair enough," Logan remarked. "You want to sit in the dark all alone, be my guest. I'm done tryin' to get through to you, and I'm done fightin' on your side to get her to help you."

This surprised Remy. When had Logan _ever_ fought on his side? Instead of asking when this miraculous event had occurred, Remy edged his way along the wall to pass by Logan and head towards the stairs at the top of the foyer. He was now so used to the staircase he easily managed it without needing to feel his way down and soon was at the bottom in no time at all.

He went to the kitchen to get a drink to sooth a slight scratchiness in his throat; he felt oddly hot too despite the colder weather outside and wondered if perhaps his blood was boiling causing him to overheat. He made his way to the fridge, opened it (perhaps a little moodily making too much noise about it) and felt around for a can of soda, finding one on the bottom shelf of the left inside door.

"You mad?"

Remy jumped; in the darkness he hadn't heard the presence of anyone else; no shifting of clothes or soft breathing. He quickly pulled himself together and closed the fridge door. He tried to quickly process the voice, the accent. Scott Summers. Perhaps right now the only other person in this place he didn't want to be in the presence of besides Rogue (or Logan, for that matter).

"No," he lied quickly, he pressed the ice cold can against his neck and tried to cool down. "Just hot."

"I thought guys like you were supposed to be used to being warm," Scott muttered.

"What's it t' you?" Remy growled back, closing the fridge door with a slight slam.

"No one is _making_ you stay here, you know," Scott responded grumpily, he shifted and Remy heard what he thought sounded like someone turning the page of a book – a book with glossy thick pages.

"Then why do I feel like a fuckin' prisoner?" Remy leaned against the counter, he drew a breath and tried to calm himself down. Part of him wanted to charge the soda can up and throw it at the direction it sounded as if Scott might be sitting in – far end of the kitchen table.

"Mind your language."

Oh that really _did_ make his blood boil. Being _lectured_ by Scott Summers about his foul language? Who was he to lecture? "Va te faire encule," Remy responded bitterly.

"Is that supposed to be some smart come back?"

"You figure it out," Remy popped the can and took a sip.

"You know what, I can see why Rogue gets mad at you all the time," Scott said, sounding quite casual about it; a thump followed his words, and Remy surmised he'd closed whatever book he'd been reading from.

"Do tell."

"You're an ungrateful bad-mouthed jerk."

"Sticks and stones," Remy scoffed.

"No wonder she has such a problem with you."

"Y' wan' know what her problem is?" Remy uttered coldly before he took a large gulp from the can.

"That you can't be trusted? That you betray your own kind?" Scott persisted.

"Her problem with me," Remy finished the contents of the soda can in one huge drink, his throat feeling not even vaguely soothed. He tossed the can into the garbage near the doorway and before he left he finished, "is that I'm not you."

* * *

Rogue couldn't remember ever having felt so hot or thirsty before; she could have likened the feeling to being stranded in the desert for days on end. Other than a few trips to the bathroom, she'd spent the entire day in bed falling in and out of sleep, trying to ignore that strange feeling that her head was shaking every time she shut her eyes.

Her trips to the bathroom through the day had been dizzying, but this time, as she tried to make her way down to the kitchen to get a cool drink, she felt incredibly off kilter so that she had to grab onto the rail on the stairs hard just to hold herself still as she carefully step by step made her way down.

Each step felt like a jump, as if time were skipping forward, and the room were shaking with each drop forward, and even the sound of her feet on the stairway carpet seemed to make a strange echoing brush that whispered her name. _Rogue. Rogue. Rogue. Rogue._

Pained by it all, she pressed her hand to her head and groaned and even the sound of her own groan was more amplified than it seemed it should have been. In the kitchen, the lights were off but two small round intense red lights pierced the darkness and she let out a soft whisper of "Remy?".

No reply; she was sure she saw his silhouette there although it seemed he was determined not to speak to her any more. She slammed her fist into the switch to turn it on, she felt almost blinded by the hot intense white light that spilled over the room and she covered her eyes, gasping. After a moment, trying to adjust, she peered through her fingers to see that what she thought had been Remy turned out only to be the alarm system control panel to the back door; two red lights were blinking.

A terrifically loud voice felt like it might deafen her and she pressed her hands to her ears and turned to see Jean Grey, moving at speeds that could have almost rivalled Pietro Maximoff's mutant speed. The red-head left motion trails as she stepped closer and Rogue made out the words "what are you doing out of bed?"

"Stop screaming!" Rogue yelled, and instantly regretted it, she felt to the floor, her brain seeming to shake at the volume. As she tried to pull herself up on the kitchen table, the fruit bowl that someone had carelessly left at the end toppled, sending two apples, a pear and a banana to hit the floor.

One apple rolled next to her hand and her eyes followed it, and her breath caught in her throat when a pair of red on black eyes opened upon it and gazed at her with such intensity.

"The apple is looking at me..." she howled, "It's looking at me!"

"Rogue, calm down! The apple isn't looking at you..."

"It has eyes...it has eyes..."

The last thing she was aware of was those eyes, just before everything went black.

* * *

When Remy LeBeau woke up in the middle of the night coughing and wheezing, it caught him by surprise. The coughing had come on so suddenly, and uncontrollably, causing his sides to hurt and his throat to feel like it were being ripped with each force.

The heating in his room seemed to have conked out; the room had went from being slightly overheated to what felt to be freezing in what he assumed to have been perhaps a few hours. It occurred to him in his slightly dizzied state (he assumed the coughing was making him feel this way) that he _could_ go ask Rogue for the cough syrup, or yell for someone to at least bring him some, but he didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of making him feel _more_ helpless than he already felt.

And so he lay there, coughing and spluttering, gasping for breath until everything seemed to go rather quiet and hazy. He surmised he must have somehow fallen asleep again although he couldn't even remember the coughing finally letting up. What tipped him off that he _had_ been sleeping was that now, there were voices in his room yet he hadn't been alerted to anyone opening his closed door, nor their footsteps on the hardwood floor. The voices were also caught in mid-conversation – another give-away.

"-something about an apple having eyes. Logan and Ororo are with her now in the sick bay trying to lower her temperature."

"It looks like it may have passed on. We'll need antibiotics for them both. We barely have enough in our supply to medicate them both for forty-eight hours."

"We'll find a way to make sure they're both taken care of."

Remy felt something cold press against his side and he let out a little yelp and tried to move away for it.

"Be still," soothed the voice of Hank McCoy. "It's just my stethoscope."

"Is that what they're callin' it these days?" Remy coughed.

"Ssh."

"Is it there?" The other voice belonged to the Professor; Remy pondered how he had managed to get up all the stairs in his wheelchair. Was there a hidden elevator upstairs he didn't know about?

"Yes. I hear it," said Hank. "Distinct crackling sound."

"And Rogue?"

"I heard it in her lungs too...although much more noticeable."

"How did we miss this?"

"It came on so suddenly, Charles," Hank replied, "I checked Rogue's lungs this morning, and she was fine other than a cough."

Remy coughed, "wha's goin' on..."

"Relax, Remy. It seems you've caught something unpleasant."

"What about Rogue?"

"I'm afraid Rogue has it too; it appears you may have caught it from her directly."

Remy coughed, "not..." he struggled to get up, "not the first time a girl give me somethin' nasty."

Hank gave a slightly uncomfortable chuckle. "Lay back for a moment and rest. We'll move you to the sick bay shortly."

"Is she gon' be all right?" Remy wheezed.

"Hmm?"

"Rogue. Will she be all right?"

"Of course. Don't worry. A good dose of antibiotics should clear this right up."

"What if it don't?" Remy asked feverishly, he tried to take a deep breath. "What if somethin' happens and I didn' even say-" he started coughing again, hard enough that it made him feel instantly dizzy, his head felt like it might explode.

"Calm down. Don't speak, just rest. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

* * *

Rogue didn't remember being brought down to the sick bay. When she awoke to the slightly harsh light of the room, she was thoroughly confused. She wasn't wearing the pyjamas she distinctly remembered putting on; in fact she seemed to be wearing a nightgown that wasn't even hers. Her hand was fitted up to an intravenous drip and it stung a little and the tape pulled upon the fine hairs upon her hand.

She tried sit up, while starting to ask what was going on but her throat hurt to do so.

"No, no, just lay back and don't fret."

She turned slowly to glance at Hank McCoy who was sitting next to the bed, he placed his hand against her shoulder and made her lay back again, she felt her head hit the relatively flat pillow and sighed.

"You had a fever of 106 during the night," Hank explained, "Jean found you in the kitchen crying about an apple with eyes."

Rogue shuddered. Yes, she _did_ remember the apple. A horrifying memory she could have really done without being reminded of.

"What's this?" she croaked as she raised her hand, the needle taped there pinched as she did so.

"Rocephin."

"What's that?" she asked worriedly, her words were followed by a bout of coughing.

"Didn't I say don't fret?" Hank smiled just a little. "It's an antibiotic. You have pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" she asked hoarsly. She sighed and realised it was no wonder she felt so ill. She turned around to look around the room; she was startled to discover that Remy LeBeau was sleeping soundly in the other bed four feet away, a soft breathy-snore drifting from his side of the room.

"He has it too?" she asked after a small coughing fit.

"They _do_ say that sharing is caring," Hank chuckled, but then sighed, "yes. Not quite as severe as your condition was last night, but he had a fever last night and was violently coughing."

It seemed strange to her that such a thing could have come on so suddenly. How odd it was that what had seemed to have been a simple cold could so quickly turn into something potentially _life_ threatening without proper treatment.

"Ah didn't know pneumonia was contagious," Rogue admitted as she gazed over at the sleeping nineteen year old in the next bed. She couldn't help but feel a horrible sense of guilt coming on as she watched him.

"Technically...it isn't," said Hank, he checked her I.V.. "Pneumonia _itself_ isn't contagious. But the bacteria being coughed up can pass on and develop into flu, and bacterial pneumonia. We didn't see it coming and wouldn't have guessed that it would so quickly turn into pneumonia. We thought it best to isolate the both of you until you're better so that you don't potentially spread it any further. A full blown epidemic at the institute is something we definitely want to avoid."

"Will Remy be all right?" she asked as she turned back to look at Hank.

"Of course he will," said Hank with a winning – albeit toothy – grin.

Rogue sighed softly and glanced to Remy once again; his eyes still taped up, his cheeks slightly flushed from sleep, his hair sticking up away from the pillow at a rather odd angle. "It's not really fair...is it?"

"What isn't?" asked Hank as he moved over to the I.V. Beside Remy's bed.

"First he's blinded...then he accidentally embeds a piece of glass into his wrist...and now he's got pneumonia..."

"It is very unfortunate," Hank admitted softly.

"Just one more thing he'll blame us for, Ah guess..." she swallowed hard. "He'll probably be _mad_ with me 'cause Ah gave it to him."

Hank paused, his indigo eyes gazing into space momentarily, "actually...he didn't seem all that mad last night when we spoke to him."

"He didn't?"

"All he seemed worried about..." Hank paused, "was that you would be all right."

She leaned up awkwardly, "huh?"

"You seem surprised."

She was. Her eyes unfocused at Remy's figure, she became lost in her thoughts, and she couldn't help but feel bewildered that he would feel remotely concerned about her well-being while he was so obviously ill himself. Especially with his distraction of being blind _and_ wounded. It was so...unbelievable.

And then their last few encounters drifted back to her and she remembered his words about if she should need anything she should call for him, and his coming to check on her only yesterday morning.

He had been worried about her.

_Genuinely worried._

Perhaps it wasn't in his nature so that his concern had seemed incredibly insincere, or perhaps it was just in _her_ nature to not want anyone worrying or concerning themselves over her. Perhaps it was just that she had never assumed Remy would be concerned over _anyone _other than himself.

Whatever way she looked at it, she suddenly couldn't help feeling her bringing up the subject of his 'employer' had been very bad timing and perhaps she'd been...harsh? She felt her eyes begin to water and she closed them to stop herself from crying. She felt like a very foolish girl.

* * *

The sheets were unfamiliar, and so was the smell of the room; that surprised him. While the whole of the Xavier mansion always smelt clean, this particular room smelt incredibly clinical, and it brought back memories of the day of his accident; the night he'd cut his wrist in the kitchen and had been taken to a room to have his wrist temporarily stitched up by Hank McCoy. The room he was constantly being taken to in order to have the dressings on his eyes changed, have his bandage checked, and to have his stitches redone (twice now).

Yes. This was that room.

_I'm in the Sick Bay,_ he thought. As many times as he'd been in it now, he still didn't know the lay out all that well, and didn't really have a mental image of how it might look in his head – although mental images seemed harder and harder to make even though he hadn't been blind all that long.

He shifted his hand and felt the sting associated with it, he reached over and tapped his hand, felt the tape and the hard plastic of something.

"It's an I.V.," came a voice to his left; he recognised Rogue's hoarse voice. He could hear the strain each time she spoke and this time it seemed worse than usual.

"Oh..." he left the thing alone. He lay for a moment trying to piec0e together what had happened before he'd ended up here. Had he hit his head?

"Ah gave you pneumonia...apparently," Rogue croaked, almost as if she had read his mind.

He gave a vague slightly dry laugh, "Don' worry. Like I said to Hank, It ain' the worse thing a girl ever gave me."

"Don't be crude," she scolded, sounding slightly upset.

"Sorry," he replied, cough shortly following. "So...pneumonia huh?"

"Ah'm sorry you caught it. As if bein' blind and all cut up wasn't bad enough you had to get this too."

"I guess it's karma or somethin'," he replied. "Maybe I deserved it."

"Why would you think that?" she asked; he had to listen closely to her to make her words out, her voice was so drained of energy and sound from all the coughing she'd done over the past few days.

"Dunno. Maybe for all my sins, eh?" he mused.

"Accordin' to Hank, you caught my bacteria, and that's what turned it into pneumonia."

"You got pretty strong bacteria for a girl."

"You must have a pretty weak immune system for a boy."

"Man."

"Hmm?"

He coughed before he responded, "I'm a _man."_

_"_Gettin' a bad case of _crotch rot_ doesn't make you a man, gumbo," came a grumpy voice from somewhere to the far side of the room.

"Was wonderin' when you'd turn up, _Logan,_" Remy snorted. "Haven't heard your clunky footsteps in a while...where you been hidin' at?" he queried. Why _hadn't _he heard him approach? Had Logan been walking barefoot? Remy couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy about this.

"I've been workin', Gumbo. Honest work. The kind you ain't used to."

Remy snorted but said nothing.

"No point in both of you bein' ill at the same time. So one of you is gonna have to get better," Logan stated. "Care to guess which one."

"Fantastic. Rogue gets t' absorb y' powers and get instantly better while I get stuck here for god knows how long."

"They can keep you down here 'til New Years for all I care," Logan remarked coolly.

"Your concern is touchin'," Remy retorted and followed it with a cough.

"Our _concern,_" Logan growled, "is that we only have enough of the antibiotics to last two days on two people, or four days on _one_. It could be _five_ before we can get another supply. So either Rogue gets well and we use the remainin' on you, or you both stay ill, and then when the antibiotics run out I heal her and you can die from pneumonia since accordin' to Hank, you don't like hospitals. It's your call, Gumbo."

"Whatever."

* * *

It was odd how a few days of illness could truly make someone appreciate their health once again, and as Rogue washed the sweat out of her hair while she was in the shower, she smiled just a little at how truly _well_ she felt. While it was always painful absorbing Logan's powers and his jagged broken memories, the results were always quite encouraging after getting over the initial shock.

Absorbing the powers and thoughts of a mutant known for at times an incredibly savage nature _was_ always a shock to the system. The rage – while Logan had learned to control it – came to her almost instantly and had started her lashing out when the memories of white hot pain dancing along every bone in her body played back in broken jagged pieces.

When the shock to the system finally did ebb off (unfortunately leaving some residual memories which Logan didn't seem too happy about sharing), Rogue felt absolutely fine. Her lungs had cleared, her throat no longer hurt, and even the few zits she'd been hiding under several layers of foundation for the past week had disappeared leaving her skin absolutely flawless.

As she stared at her face in the mirror following her shower, she marvelled how clear her face was and how bright her eyes seemed. She thought it funny that if women everywhere thought they could use Logan's healing factor to make themselves look this flawless, there'd be a very large bounty out on him so someone could figure out how to extract his powers and put it into jars to sell for an exuberant price.

But with the good effects, there were always the bad, and other than the memories which were traumatising enough, she noted the sparse hairs that she always plucked from her brows had grown back completely despite it had only been days since she'd removed them. Body hair, also, grew back at an alarming rate and trying to shave it away in the shower had been an exercise in futility as it seemed to take minutes to grow back. After she removed the towel from her hair after quickly dressing, she learned her hair had also grown several inches in an incredibly short period of time and she groaned when she realised it was out of shape and would need cutting.

After drying her hair and unhappily throwing it back in a ponytail (stealing one of Kitty's hairties) she went back down to the sick bay. Hank was changing the bedsheets on the bed she'd been using while Remy seemed to be sleeping again in the other.

"Logan's healing factor seems to have done you the world of good," Hank noted.

"Yeah, but look at my hair..." Rogue grumbled as she tossed her ponytail irritatedly. "Ah need to get a haircut now."

"I would wait at least a day if I were you," Hank suggested, "for the growth to stop."

"Ah'm scared Ah'll get sideburns," Rogue rubbed her cheeks. "Ah don't think Ah have the bone structure to pull off mutton chops."

Hank chuckled in response. "Are you going back to school today?"

"Yeah," Rogue replied. The thought of staying home all day once again was too much to take. As much as she hated school, she hated the thought of being stuck at home another full day. She hadn't even left the mansion during the weekend, and the cabin fever was beginning to get to her.

"You sure you wouldn't like to take this one last day to catch up with your homework?" asked Hank. "The teacher in me would like to see you go back to school, but I know you _have_ fallen behind considerably."

"Ah caught up with some of my homework yesterday but Ah can't afford to stay off much longer or Ah'm gonna fall behind again."

"You'll need a note, won't you?" Hank asked.

"Yeah."

"Ah. I'll get to that. Let me go find a notepad."

When Hank left the room, Rogue stood absently hovering in the middle of the room. Remy LeBeau shifted in his bed, still asleep, a soft sigh escaping his slightly chapped lips. She eased herself over quietly, gazing down at him.

Rogue couldn't imagine how it felt for Remy to be ill _and _blind. She'd never thought she was capable of feeling sorry for him after all he'd said and done but the feeling overwhelmed her. She'd felt somewhat _bad_ for him despite his condition was partly his own doing, but it had never turned into true pity.

She wasn't sure if it was the pity she felt for him that made her brush his hair so tenderly from his cheek with the backs of her gloved fingers, she let them rest there upon his cheek just momentarily, wondering how that might have felt had she been any other girl; how rough would his stubble have been, how warm would his flesh have been?

"Here you go."

She pulled her hand back from Remy quickly and turned to see Hank walking in with the note. He glanced at her rather oddly – having seen that swift movement away from the sleeping boy and obviously wondering what she had been doing. Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she stepped over to reach for the note.

"Thanks. Ah...Ah better go."

* * *

End of Part 5

Sorry this one took a little longer to upload!

Thanks to everyone who keeps reviewing! As always it's interesting to hear your thoughts and it truly makes my day to see what you all think and suspect. :)


	6. Part 6

Blind Leading the Blind

Part 6

Investigation

* * *

Rogue didn't make it to school. Instead, she got distracted.

It was as she was going to her room to retrieve her backpack and half-completed homework – with the full intention of going to school - that she happened upon Remy's bedroom door; she'd passed it a couple of times this morning already but what she hadn't noticed was that it was hanging ajar.

She knew she should have just left it alone and gone to school as she'd planned, and yet, she couldn't help herself from slipping into his bedroom and gazing around the room.

The bed was stripped; she assumed the sheets had been taken for washing just as hers had been. She could clearly remember waking up in damp sheets from the sweat that had seemed to have been pouring from her. Remy had obviously been in a similar condition the night before, she realised.

Quietly, she closed the door behind herself, knowing she shouldn't have been in there even if it was nothing more than a guest room that no one was using at this particular moment. She saw the trenchcoat that was the staple part of Remy's – what she always referred to as – 'warrior bum' look was hanging upon the door. It was grubby, partially threadbare and it occurred to her that someone _should_ have thrown the thing in the trash. It was time he was shot of the thing, surely. It reeked of cigarette smoke and looked as if it had never been cleaned before.

_Ah hate this damn thing,_ she thought grumpily as she she reached out to grab it, intent on ridding the mansion of it once and for all, and it was as she took it down from the hanger that she felt something hard and flat beneath her gloved fingers and the fabric.

"What the hell..." she whispered as she began to search the pockets. She knew it couldn't have been his weapons; they'd been taken from him upon his being brought into the mansion. She'd seen them down in the war room, they were lying in a box under a table; the cards, the bo-staff, a few throwing knives and a kit full of odd looking delicately designed tools that she assumed was his lock-picking kit.

The pockets were empty; even the inside pockets. She wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore the slight smell of sweat and old cigarette smoke that lingered on the garment. Her fingers trailed the lining of the coat and she realised something had slipped through the inside pocket and into the lining and was now caught there.

She took her gloves off and pried loose the stitching of the lining inside the pocket with her fingernails to get better access, and snaked her hand through to get to whatever was there; she retrieved it and pulled it out awkwardly to reveal what it was.

A bunch of plastic cards and one single key were held together by an elastic band. She slipped them apart and studied them closely; a few fake identification cards, forged social security numbers, there were three different credit cards all under different names and none of those names belonged to him_._

She turned the key over, examining it. It was an average key for an average Yale door lock. But it had a plastic cover on the ring end, and there was a logo she recognised. The logo was a large B with a smaller E in the bottom loop. Bayville Estate. Easy enough to recognise since it was the only real estate company in the Bayville area. She'd seen this logo hundreds of times, on a huge banner near her school advertising apartments for sale in a recently finished apartment building.

The key even had a number written in magic marker on the back of the plastic key cover. 1O.

"Gotcha," she laughed quietly. She pocketed the key. "I _gotcha_, Remy LeBeau."

* * *

Most of the apartments in the Bayhaven building were still empty and Rogue assumed this was due to the ridiculous asking prices (noted on their banner prices on one bedroom apartments were at least $100,000 over the asking prices of a standard three bedroom house in the suburbs).

As Rogue entered the building, she felt a small sense of guilt that she hadn't told anyone at home where she was going. She would have been stopped, Logan would have snatched the key off her and gone himself just to investigate.

It occurred to her that perhaps she should have just let him do so rather than going alone. She struggled to find the correct apartment at first. Originally, she had thought that it was perhaps the number ten, after discovering each floor only had four apartments, numbered and lettered, it occurred to her that it wasn't a zero, but an 'O'. Remy LeBeau lived at 1 'O'.

Apartment 1O was on the fifteenth floor, which also happened to be the penthouse apartment, and it was a long climb up many staircases (she didn't want to use the elevator of an apartment building that was seemingly mostly vacant – if it happened to break down, she'd have a lot of explaining to do when she called for help).

It was the only apartment on that floor, and she was glad of this as no one would be up there to catch her in the act of letting herself in. As she turned the key in the lock, the smell of freshly painted walls in the hallway lingered in her senses.

After stepping inside and closing the door behind herself, Rogue found herself in an open plan room, distinctly large, but mostly void of furniture other than a few key pieces. One main wall consisted entirely of windows, the light diffused by brown vertical blinds. The smell of paint was just as strong in this apartment and she got the impression that however long Remy had been living here, it couldn't have been very long.

She moved over to the vertical blinds and pulled the rod at one end to drag the blinds completely open; weak wintery sunlight poured through the windows, lighting up the starkly white painted room. A cheap-looking blue fabric couch – an Ikea bog standard, no doubt - was set in front of a 22inch flat screen tv on a rather cheap-looking stand. No DVD player, no CD player, no cable, no phone. On the coffee table in front of the couch, a game of solitaire was half finished, and a half-bottle of Stella Artois was set beside the remainder of the pack, and an empty pizza box. "Not exactly a healthy diet," she grumbled to herself as she picked up the bottle and took a sniff at the foul smelling stuff.

The kitchen in the far corner of the room was immaculate. Everything was state of the art, a subzero refrigerator, six gas hobs and double stove doors built into the cabinets. . The only tell tale signs anyone had ever even eaten in the apartment was an empty box from a frozen shepherd's pie that she found near the microwave (the only appliance that had fingerprints on it showing it _was _actually used), and a bowl and fork in the sink that hadn't been cleaned yet (the food had gone crusty and moldy against the sides of the bowl and she wrinkled her nose in disgust at this). She poked around the cabinets and found only the bare minimum of essentials, a couple of bowls, plates and mugs, a cutlery set that looked cheap and flimsy, an electric kettle that was still in the box, and a jar of instant coffee that the foil had never even been popped on.

It somehow wasn't how she'd ever imagined Remy living, in a stark bare apartment, drinking instant coffee and eating microwave meals with cheap silverware from badly made cheap bowls.

A telescope pointed out towards the large windows caught her eye and she wandered over to examine the view of Bayville from it; she didn't entirely feel startled that it was pointed right towards the Xavier estate, which while still being some distance away, was easily enough viewed from a well-made telescope. She could even make out Scott Summer's car in the drive.

"No wonder he can keep tabs on us all," she muttered as she moved away and went to search for the bathroom. The bathroom was just as beautiful as the kitchen area but it had more signs of being more frequently used. The shavings still in the sink, the razor sitting there right on the edge, the can of deodorant left out on a shelf, the shower gel still in the shower stall. She opened the cabinet and nosed inside finding the general items any girl might expect to find in a guy's medicine cabinet; a powdered medication for athletes foot, shaving cream, spare razors, a box of condoms (which made her wonder who he had brought here to this apparent bachelor pad) and a bar of soap.

Nothing so far had given her any indication of what he might have been up to in the chemical plant that day, nothing gave her any indication of who he might be working for. But then, there was still _one_ room to check out.

As she entered the bedroom, she was very aware of his scent. It was odd because it was something she'd very rarely noticed the few times they'd run into each other before his ending up blinded and living at the mansion. Right now, standing in the bedroom, she was strongly reminded of those times...of the first time they'd met.

Her eyes roved the room, everything was relatively neat other than the bed, which was unmade. A laundry basket was on the floor in a corner, full of his dirty clothes and she used a back scratcher she'd found lying on the top of the dresser to cautiously lift the clothes about (she didn't want to land her hands on his dirty underwear even if she was wearing her gloves).

It wasn't until she opened the first drawer in his dresser that she found anything _worth_ finding. Money. Not just a few dollars but a stack of it. Easily a couple of thousand. Which made her wonder _why_ he had told the X-Men he'd been stealing from the chemical plant to make money to pay rent.

_Ah knew he had to be lyin' about somethin', _she thought as she picked the money up and put it into her bag.

It wasn't just the money she found, as she pushed about the balled up socks and clean underwear in the drawer she noted something felt hard inside one of the balled up socks. Curiously, she pulled the socks out and unravelled them carefully to find a tiny glass vial about 2 centimetres in length. She picked it up and raised it to the light to examine the contents better. To her it _looked_ like glitter. Red glitter, some of it coarse glimmering flakes, the rest a fine shimmering crimson powder.

_Why the hell is Remy LeBeau storing glitter? _She asked herself as she dropped her hand and looked around the room absently, trying to make sense of it.

"What the hell you think you're playin' at?"

She nearly dropped the glass vial; she turned around, gasping in surprise to see Logan standing there in the doorway, looking incredibly annoyed with her.

"You're meant to be at school."

"Ah...Ah found Remy's key..." she admitted in a stammer, "Ah didn't want to bother you with it..."

"You know the rules; you don't go investigating without informing people where you're going. What if something had happened to you here and we didn't know where you were?"

"Ah didn't want to bother anyone; it might have been nothing..." she lied.

"You wanted to have a nosey first to see what was here," Logan grumbled. "What'd you find?"

For some reason she couldn't explain to herself and she closed her hand carefully around the vial, "a whole crapload of money..."

"How much?"

"Ah dunno...maybe a few thousand...Ah put it in my bag so we can ask him about it," she shrugged.

"I figured he had to be lying the minute I followed your scent to here," Logan grunted, "look at this place. This doesn't run cheap."

"Ah found credit cards in the linin' of his coat," she confessed, "But if he has all this money, why is he livin' with hardly _any _furniture or stuff?"

"It's easier for him," said Logan. "The less attached he is to a place and to things he owns, the less it bothers him when he has to take off."

She sifted through the clothes he had in the dresser, "Ah suppose we should take some of his clothes back to him..." she decided. "So he doesn't need to wear Scott's..."

"I guess," Logan said, "you checked the other rooms?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Nothin' important."

"I guess it'd be too much to hope that he had a book lyin' around with all the names and numbers of his 'employers'," Logan frowned.

Rogue took a pile of t-shirts out of the drawer, "He wouldn't be that careless, would he?" she asked.

"If he's hidin' something important, obviously it isn't here," Logan stated as he checked under the bed, "His lyin' about needin' to pay the rent though..." he shook his head, "he _obviously _didn't need money..."

"Maybe he was paid up front," Rogue suggested.

"No. When you hire someone like him to do somethin'...you don't pay up front. That money isn't from whoever was _employin'_ him. That money is from somewhere else."

"Ah guess we can ask him to explain it when we get back."

"Yeah. We'll give this place a thorough check then get out of here. And if you pull this crap again, it'll be driven to school by me _and_ escorted into your first class."

Rogue didn't like the sound of that, and promised herself silently that next time she would do her investigations _after_ school.

* * *

The antibiotics certainly didn't feel as if they were working. Remy felt lousy when he woke up and his throat was continuing to hurt more and more as each onslaught of coughing came. He was uncomfortable in the sick bay bed – it was a thin mattress and the sheets were too starchy for his liking. He'd gotten used to the bed in the guest room he'd spent the past few weeks in despite the discomfort of that.

He tried to sit up and remembered the I.V. In his hand and gave a yelp when it pinched and the micropore tape pulled on a few hairs.

"Easy now," came a voice by his side. He recognised the young woman's voice at once. It was Jean Grey.

"Where's _Hank_?" Remy asked weakly.

"He's resting. He _has_ been up all night watching over you and Rogue, you know. He needs his rest too," Jean admitted. "I'm here to take care of you until he wakes up."

"Joy," remarked Remy. "What's your boyfriend got t' say about that? Sure he don' like it that y' gotta spend y' personal time takin' care of the boy he damn near killed."

"Scott doesn't have a say," Jean said, sounding bored with the conversation. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been chewed up and spat out," he coughed. "Ain' y' worried y' gon' get sick?"

"I'm protecting myself with my powers. Your germs won't pass through."

"I guess y' gotta be careful. Get'n' sick would put a real damper on y' love life."

"That isn't really your concern," Jean replied coolly.

"I don' know _what_ you girls see in that dweeb," Remy grumbled after another bout of coughing.

"_Dweeb_?" she asked, sounding genuinely offended.

"He's about as appealing as a thong on a potato," he replied grumpily. "Ain' a dick he got, mos' likely a _half-inch maggot._"

Jean's breathing became slow but heavy and he could hear the anger building in her. It suited him. He wanted her to be pissed off, because he felt that way.

"Gettin' all riled up, red?" he mused.

"I know you're trying to tick me off..." Jean said under a low, calm breath, "I just don't understand _why."_

"Why? You wanna know why?" Remy demanded, "'cause you and your X-Men fucked up everything. That's why," he started coughing afterwards; it took him several moments for him to catch his breath afterwards.

The sound of her shifting uncomfortably became further away, it seemed as if she were about to say something, the sound of the door opening had disturbed her.

"Rogue..." Jean sounded slightly surprised, "I thought-"

"Ah didn't make it to school," Rogue replied. "Can Ah have a moment with the swamp rat?"

Jean hesitated. "I...Yes. I'll...I'll go finish doing the laundry from earlier."

Remy listened as Jean's light steps descended away, and the door shut behind her. Rogue was the one hovering now, by the foot of his bed it seemed by the direction the sounds of her shifting anxiously seemed to be coming from.

"Y' couldn' keep away from me, eh?" he asked throatily, he supposed if his voice hadn't been so ripped up from excessive coughing, he might have sounded sexy.

A moment passed, then she suddenly asked, "Ah wanna know why you lied."

"Huh?"

"Ah had to beg Logan to let _me_ talk to you first to see if Ah could get the truth out of you. 'Cause if he has to come in here and _shake_ it out of you while you're _this_ sick, it's not gonna be pretty. So just _spill_ it, and we can _all _get on with our lives."

"I dunno what the hell y' talkin' about."

There was a sound of rustling, and then he felt something hit him right in the groin; something quite hard and heavy. He groaned at the impact.

"Ow!"

"That! _That's_ what I'm talkin' about!"

He reached down and picked up whatever it was she'd thrown, feeling along the edges, his fingers flicked across the edges of crisp paper held together by an elastic band. He recognised it at once. It was money. _His_ money.

"Well?" she demanded of him.

"It's money...what else y' want me t' say, chere?" he asked hoarsely.

"Ah dunno," she fumed, "maybe you could tell me why you were pleadin' poverty when you were asked why you were in that chemical factory and there you were sittin' on what looks to be a couple of grand! You have credit cards in different names, half a dozen social security numbers! A _penthouse apartment_ in Bayhaven!"

He drew a slow, careful breath, "that apartment costs money."

"Yeah, six hundred and eighty-nine grand."

"How did you-?"

"Me and Logan found the original listing. We even talked with the agent who sold you the property – you bought it outright. So cut the bullshit."

"I'm not givin' you bullshit! That money was for bills! D' y' have _any_ idea how much electricity and heating bills cost for an apartment that size? And food? And living expenses? Bayville ain't _cheap_. And besides...y' had no right t' go snoopin' around my apartment in the first place!"

"Stings, doesn't it? When someone _spies_ on you and goes through your shit."

He said nothing. He couldn't deny that it stung. He couldn't help but feel oddly betrayed by her and wondered how she could have found out where he lived and gotten. He'd thought he'd been careful when he'd hidden the key in the lining of his coat. To him, he decided, it wasn't exactly an obvious place.

"And this vial of glitter?" her voice was light, and slightly echoed in the room. She sounded herself again, healthy and suspicious.

He felt like his heart may have skipped several nervous beats. "Glitter? What are you talkin' about, woman?"

"Red glitter...Ah found it in your socks! And don't give me any _more_ bullshit, LeBeau. You're not an arts and crafts man. Ah wanna know what it's for, and Ah wanna know _now._"

"For all y' know I was gon' make you a Christmas card," he croaked. "Maybe even a Valentines card."

"Give it a rest."

"I wish I could. But y' keep bringin' up these stupid fuckin' suspicious questions, so how _can_ I?" he demanded. "Y' keep pickin' the same arguments with me time and time again and I'm sick of goin' in circles here!"

"Ah swear to god..." she began and she seemed to stop herself.

"What, chere? Y' gon' hit me? Y' gon' throw me out?"

She moved closer, her footstep heavy, the shifting of her clothes around her was quick and made him well aware somehow of her agitation. "Tell me _one_ good reason," she lowered her voice, "why Ah shouldn't take this red glitter to the professor."

He paused, "y' didn't?".

Remy was surprised by this. Very surprised. He had expected she would have immediately taken it to the Professor and had almost assumed she might be trying to trick him...to get him to admit the contents after already knowing full well what was inside that vial.

"No."

"Does Wolverine know?"

"No," she replied again, she sighed, "tell me why Ah shouldn't, Remy?"

"Because."

"Because, why_?"_

"Because I'm _askin'_ y' not to."

"Tell me what it _is,_ Remy...or Ah'm gonna hand it in right now."

"It's nothin'," he responded. Did Professor Xavier have the means to find out what it was? He tried to convince himself the answer was no. However, there was a small part of him that already felt his hiding the identity of those contents in that vial was an exercise in futility. He had to get it back from her. He didn't know what he would do with the vial if he got it back but he had to get it away from her.

"If it's nothin', then _tell_ me."

"Gimme it," he pleaded of her. Perhaps, he realised, it was his desperation that made her want to refuse his request to have his vial back. It was his desperation that made him realise now she never _would_ give it back.

She snorted, "tell me what it is, and Ah'll consider it."

He reached out blindly and snatched at the first thing he could reach and her felt the hard angle of her shoulder beneath his bare hand. He pulled her down to his level, until he felt a spurt of angry yet nervous breath brush his lips. "Let me have the vial..." he hoarsely demanded.

"What the hell are you _doin'_? Are you tryin' to get yourself _killed?_" she demanded of him, she broke away from him. "If you're causin' this much fuss about the stuff in this vial, it _can't_ be good...Ah'm givin' you one more chance, Remy. Either you tell me what it is now...or Ah'm takin' it to the Professor and he'll be able to tell me what it is. It's your call."

He pursed his lips tightly and shook his head.

"Fine," she spat. "Ah'm done with you, and this time Ah mean it. When you won't tell us who hired you to break into that chemical factory, that's bad enough, but you're lyin' to us about other stuff too now, and Ah'm not acceptin' that. You claim you trust me but you can't tell me anything."

He listened to the sound of her walking across the room, he heard the creaking of the door as she opened it.

"Ah've spent my life bein' messed around by _liars_, Remy. Ah don't have any room in my life for any more. Ah thought maybe we could be friends...but...Ah was wrong."

The door swung closed, and he could hear the distant sound of her footsteps descending down the hall. He sighed deeply and shook his head at himself, a feeling of defeat left a heavy weight in his chest, and as the sounds of her steps finally vanished into his dark oblivion, the sense of loneliness blanketed him.

* * *

End of Part 6

Sorry for taking so long to upload this one, had some personal issues going on that were making it hard for me to sit down and concentrate enough to get anything done lately. Boo. Anyway, hopefully Part 7 won't take as long to get up. :) Thanks to everyone who's been reading. :)


	7. Part 7

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 7**

**CHANGE**

* * *

Rogue didn't take the vial to the Professor just as she'd threatened to.

She had thought about it.

She had done _more_ than thought about it. She had been halfway down the hall towards his office over a dozen times but she had somehow managed to stop herself. Something kept preventing her from going any further and she couldn't explain to herself exactly what that was.

It was all she could think about the rest of the day; _why_ couldn't she make that leap and approach the Professor...or even Hank...about whatever was in that vial. That night after dinner, it was her turn to do dishes; she and Bobby Drake were both on the rota to take their turn in clearing away all the dinner plates, cooking pots and clearing the kitchen. She wasn't in the mood for Bobby Drake's yakkity-yakking in the background, or his tendency to do everything half-assed (as most teenagers tend to do). She told him she would cover for him this time if he wanted to go do something else (such as get out of her way), and was glad when he took her up on the offer and went to go play Video Games in the rec room.

As she stared into space, almost elbow deep in dishwater, she tried to make sense of what she'd found in Remy LeBeau's apartment. Money and a vial full of what looked like red glitter wasn't all that much to go on.

It was ironic, she thought. She had found the vial inside of a pair of balled up socks and that was now exactly where she was hiding it too, in a pair of her socks in the top drawer of her dresser.

"You gonna stand there all night not doin' anything?"

She broke away from her thoughts at the sound of Logan's voice, and she turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Oh...sorry."

"Why isn't Drake in here clearin' dishes like he was meant to?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"He was drivin' me nuts. He broke two plates and was gonna use a dirty dishtowel on the clean dishes. And on top of all that he wouldn't shut up! Ah told him Ah would cover for him," she sighed.

"I'll do dishes with him tomorrow; teach the kid some proper discipline," Logan decided, he opened a drawer and grabbed a clean dishtowel, unfolding it as he approached. "I'll dry."

"Thanks," she forced a smile.

"So. Cajun's getting to you, huh?" Logan asked as he moved to the dishrack and began to do the chore.

"Huh?" she blinked, "Oh...no. What made you think that?"

"You just look troubled. And ever since he moved in here, you've had that look on your face whenever you've spent more than two seconds with him," Logan dried a dish and slipped it into place in the cabinet. "You let him wind you up like a kids toy. He winds and winds and winds and lets you go – maybe just so he can find out how far you'll go and what you'll do. And just because he can't _see_ your face doesn't mean he still doesn't get a kick out of knowing he can."

She stared into the dish soap foam. "He doesn't get a kick. He gets mad."

"Yeah. Likes to be mouthy, doesn't he?"

"He...deflects a lot...if that's what you mean."

"Hmm?"

"Ah dunno..." she sighed, her ponytail fell over her shoulder and she tossed it back awkwardly, wishing she'd thought to go for a haircut instead of investigating Remy's apartment. "It's just...when Ah try to help him...he says mean things...tries to make me feel bad. And then he goes on about how lame Scott is...how everythin' is all Scott's fault."

Logan gave a sudden chuckle, "yeah."

She blinked, "why is that funny?"

"It's just...you know. He's _jealous. _

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Yeah, well, Scott is at college, has a car, has a steady home and what everyone in this place calls 'a hot girlfriend'. Why wouldn't he be jealous?"

It was Logan's turn to roll his eyes now. "Not jealous like that, Stripes."

"Huh?" she stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Logan strangely. She didn't understand what he was talking about. Sometimes she thought perhaps he didn't even know what he was talking about and just made things up as he went along.

"Just think about it. Now get washin'. We don't have all night to stand here doin' dishes and makin' idle chit chat. We have a Danger Room session to get to."

* * *

The Danger Room sessions had become more uncharacteristically stressful than usual. Rogue had definitely noticed it building over the weeks that Remy LeBeau had come to stay at the Xavier institute but she hadn't been prepared for the intensity that this particular exercise was set.

Rogue tried not to become frustrated with the whole training session; it seemed to be deliberately set so there was no way of winning. It had started with Sabretooth, but taking him out by knocking him out cold had caused two new enemies to spawn in his place; Quicksilver and Magneto. Taking down Magneto even in holographic form was impossible; taking out Quicksilver hadn't been easy, but eventually they had managed to do so; the whole team were thoroughly horrified when knocking out Quicksilver spawned both Avalanche and The Scarlet Witch in his place. Avalanche was always easy to incapacitate, but taking him out caused Toad and Blob to appear in the simulation.

"Ah'm startin' to notice a trend here," Rogue breathed; the landscape they were battling on was a large desert, so vast and endless and everyone could practically taste the sand.

"Okay, like, we have a _huge_ problem here..." Kitty gasped, she and Rogue were running from huge tornadoes that had begun to appear when The Scarlet Witch had spawned in the simulation.

"Every time we take out one, two more appear..." Rogue glanced over her shoulder, the tornadoes were fast approaching, she could feel the pull on her and she was finding it harder to run.

"Watch out!" Kitty yelled, she reached over and grabbed a hold of Rogue's wrist hard and yanked her into the nearest sand bank, phasing them right through; Rogue felt herself slip into the sand, passing through it as if it were merely air. She held her breath, afraid that one wrong move of Kitty's would suffocate them both.

When they emerged from the bank, the tornadoes had passed, but Magneto, Scarlet Witch, Toad and Blob were approaching, all looking particularly menacing and dangerous as always.

Kurt took out Toad; he grabbed onto him from behind after teleporting behind him and teleported out of sight completely, Rogue assumed to drop him off somewhere too far to run or walk from. Rogue gaped as the two new mutants who had spawned in the place of Toad's being taken out of the simulation.

One was Mystique. The other was Gambit.

* * *

Remy had been in the bathroom when he'd heard the yelling. At first he wasn't sure if he had heard it as it had mingled with the splashing of water upon water, but when he'd finished his ablutions, and hit the flush and that had quietened down, he realised there definitely _was_ yelling coming from somewhere.

It had come through what he felt must have been a vent leading from the bathroom next to the sick bay from somewhere he decided sounded vaguely below. He had always been aware of the sub-basements in the X-Men's domain, but it hadn't occurred to him that he had been standing directly above any of it at that particular moment.

At first, it had started too incoherent to understand, tried as he had to listen carefully. Full of echoes and and the sound of thumping; footsteps, Remy would have wagered. There were only two voices, female and male and he recognised Rogue's voice instantly because he had grown so quickly accustomed to that angry bitter tone of hers.

It was at least another few seconds before the voices began to become clear enough to understand, words and sentences began to make sense.

"Ah can't believe you would do that!"

"C'mon, Rogue! It was just a _training exercise_."

Remy recognised the voice of Scott Summers too; a voice he had already grown to despise since moving into this wretched place. Scott sounded rather unapologetic about...whatever he seemed to be trying to apologise. Yes, he was trying to make peace but Remy couldn't detect a single note of remorse about...whatever it was that Scott had apparently done to tick Rogue off in the first place.

"Ah don't care! First of all you set up this stupid program that gives us _no_ possible means of winning and then you add in _them! _Was that just to fuck me over?"

The footsteps stopped; their voices seemed to distinctly echo now, and Remy felt they might be standing directly beneath the vent upon which he shifted quietly and carefully to locate so he could listen in better.

"Why would I want to do that, Rogue?"

"Ah don't _know_. To piss me off."

"Why would I want to piss you off?"

"Because Ah've been helpin' Remy, and you don't like that."

"It was a training exercise. That's all."

"Adding _Mystique_ into the mix is one thing. Ah'd almost expect! But adding _Remy_?"

"I didn't _add_ him, Rogue...the program picks from a database of known enemies and he was chosen at random. As if I'd really do that!"

"Ah don't know, Scott, Ah just don't _know,_" Rogue retorted. Remy could almost picture her spitting every time she said the word _know. _

"It was just random," Scott remarked again, coolly. Remy could still detect no true tone of apology there. It just sounded _monotone, _like there was nothing behind the words.

_So they been puttin' me in their training sessions, huh?_ He thought as he lingered near where the voices from the vent seemed to be the loudest.

_"_You didn't exclude him. You knew you could have...you can't pretend like you didn't think ahead, Scott," Rogue fumed.

Remy was so surprised with how genuinely annoyed she sounded with Scott. He'd never heard her yell at him with quite such...fervour. Of course, it should have been no surprise...perhaps it was just her absolute frustration of an unrequited love that made this such a passionate argument from her side.

"Even if I _had_. We can't _ignore_ that _Gambit_ is still the enemy, Rogue. Just because he lives with us-"

"He lives with us because you made a bad choice, Scott. You hit him – thoughtlessly – and now he's blind. He's not the enemy, Scott...he can't do anything to us any more!"

"Since when do you side with him?"

"Since you suddenly became such an _asshole_ and pulled that stunt in the Danger Room. It was your programming, and it was you who messed up that whole thing! You shouldn't have been so thoughtless!"

Remy would have blinked at her choice of word for Scott Summers at that moment, had his eyes not been taped shut.

"How the hell can we expect him to _trust_ us and tell us who hired him if we're turnin' him into the enemy?" Rogue demanded.

"If he was ever gonna trust us, he'd have _told us by now,_" Scott pointed out. "About who hired him, about where that mysterious money came from, about why he's here in Bayville...everything."

_I got my reasons, prick,_ Remy thought angrily at Scott.

"You know...Ah remember this happened before and it was _you_ on my side and it threw you over..." Rogue reminded, "you told me about it...and Ah just...Ah can't believe you would do that to someone else."

"I'm trying to be a good leader, Rogue."

"You're trying to get to me!" Rogue huffed. Remy was sure he heard a soft smack; he sure as hell hoped she had slapped the guy.

"Ow, what the hell..."

Yes, she definitely had slapped Scott. Remy couldn't help but suppress a smile at this.

"Just keep the hell away from me," Rogue uttered; her footsteps suddenly quickened and descended.

Remy leaned against the wall and contemplated. The conversation had been interesting, but he wasn't sure what to make of it just yet. He would have to ponder some more...

* * *

Rogue was so mad she was still shaking. Right now, she was mad at two men. Remy LeBeau _and_ Scott Summers, but the latter had definitely climbed the top of her 'shit-list' rather quickly.

The next day, she went to school regardless of the little sleep she'd had due to her frustration forcing her to keep replaying the events in her head; it had been impossible to sleep through it all.

She dragged herself through every class, struggling to pay attention and being picked on by teachers until she was sure she would end up losing her temper and yelling back at them. Somehow she managed to hold her tongue.

At lunch time, she walked around the school grounds to avoid having to be with her friends who would notice her crabby mood and be unable to refrain from commenting and picking at it until she lost the head with everyone.

The last thing she was sure she needed to be was angry with more of her friends. Life would become unbearable if she managed to alienate herself from anyone else and she was absolutely determined to prevent it at all costs.

When school ended, she dallied, trying to find distractions. She visited the library and searched for books she might have not read (but came up empty), and she went to the music store looking for anything new she might not have but nothing appealed to her. The coffee store was closed because vandals had robbed the place the night before, robbing her of another escape. She supposed she could always catch the bus and go to the mall to do some rather late Christmas shopping but she wasn't in the mood to do so.

When she arrived home, it was nearly dinner time but she didn't feel hungry despite having not eaten at lunch time, and she retired to her room to attempt to focus on the homework she had very little interest in completing.

When Kurt tried to coax her down to dinner she refused, claiming to not be hungry, that she'd eaten in town. Somehow, she felt that even Kurt knew how truly miffed she was with their team leader and how much she really didn't want to sit and break bread with the guy, because oddly, he didn't press the matter further, as he tended to normally do.

When ten pm came, and her homework had been completed (half-heartedly), she closed her books and sighed, just as a soft knock at her door arrived. Pushing her rather long hair out of her eyes and wished she'd thought to go for a haircut while desperately trying to avoid going home.

"Yeah?" she asked with a sigh, slipping the pile of homework books back into her school bag.

The door opened, slowly, and tentatively; she watched thinking for one moment it might have been Scott Summers with his tail between his legs. However, it wasn't; it was Remy LeBeau standing there, his head poking through the door blindly. "Chere?" he asked.

_Great. He wants to start picking fights as this time of night,_ she thought as she glanced at the clock. "Yeah?" she asked tiredly.

"Am I interruptin' or anything?" he asked, his voice still hoarse.

"No. And you should be in the sick bay...not tryin' to contaminate us all with your germs," she uttered as she tossed the school bag on the floor in the corner and she headed towards her bed, turning the covers over.

"Your germs," he reminded.

She stared down at her sheets and sighed silently.

"I jus'...I wanted t' see if y' were okay."

"Why...wouldn't Ah be?" she forced, trying to sound apathetic and only sounding very upset instead. She climbed onto the bed and sat folded legged, hands on her lap.

He came in and quietly shut the door behind himself, "it's jus'...y' hear whispers 'round this place sometimes...and people say y' been...hidin' up here all night."

Pursing her lips she leaned back against her pillows and refused to say anything on the matter. She was sure if she said anything she would begin yelling again.

"Y' wan' talk?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Rogue frowned as she stared into space. "Ah'm not in the mood to fight right now."

"Neither am I," he admitted; he stifled a cough against a tissue in his hand, "I jus'..."

"What? Heard about what happened and want to come rub in about how wrong Ah was about Scott?" she asked bitterly.

"No..." he shook his head, "I jus' worried...that's all."

"Worried?" she raised an eyebrow at him. "Worried about _what_ exactly? That I'll go take the vial to the Professor and blow your cover or whatever?"

"No. Jus'...I'm worried 'bout you."

She snorted, "yeah. Sure."

"Hmm?"

"You don't care about anythin' or anyone but yourself."

"Whatever give y' that impression?" he asked, hovering by the foot of her bed.

"Ah've been in your head," she reminded. "At least twice."

"If y' really had been in my head..._properly_..." he began, "Y' would know that ain' true," he stepped over; he invited himself to sit on the bed awkwardly feeling around for the mattress before taking the plunge to sit fully.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, but said nothing to him.

He seemed to sit there and contemplate for several moments about what to say to her. "I ain' a bad guy, y' know."

This was true. He wasn't necessarily _bad_ as she sometimes liked to think he was. In fact, Remy LeBeau could be somewhat good in his own rather selfish ways at times. She'd been in his head, she knew there was something good in there – he just wasn't necessarily good at revealing it, she decided, and it definitely wasn't obvious otherwise. But regardless of the goodness, there was also some badness in him and that she definitely couldn't ignore no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Ah know," she said quietly. _"_But sometimes, you _can_ be..."

"Oh c'mon," he scoffed.

"No," Rogue sighed, "you have it in you to be a bad guy. You fully know the difference between right and wrong..."

"I've done the right thing before."

"No, but it's not about just having done something right before, it's about always doing the right thing. Not just because it _suits_ you, but because it's the _right_ thing to do. When you do the right thing even if it makes you feel worse or even if it _isn't_ something you want to do..._that's_ when you can call yourself a good guy, Remy."

"Y' don't believe I could change?"

"People don't change, Remy...not really. They can put on an _act_ but they don't change."

"I'd like t' change," he sighed.

"Then you gotta stop thinkin' about yourself."

"I _have,_" he assured. "There's things I've done that _have_ been completely selfless."

"Like...?"

He faltered.

"You can't even name them."

"Jus' because I can't name them don' mean I didn't do them."

"If you say so."

"What about when I help Jean-Luc? That wasn' a selfish act."

"It was the right thing to do," Rogue agreed, "But Ah know that you knew you'd feel guilty for the rest of your life if you _didn't_ go help him. That _was_ a selfish act."

"Why y' always got t' see the bad side of everythin' good I do?"

"Why is it when you do somethin' _good_ it always has to be about _you_?" she pointed out.

He fell silent, his expression – as much as she could see of it – was sombre. He gave a long resonant sigh and shook his head. "Sometimes feels like me an' you might be magnets," he finally said.

"Huh?" she asked confusedly.

"We always seem t' gravitate t'wards each other but..." he paused.

"Huh?" she blinked.

"It's like the closer I try t' get t' you...the further I push y' away."

"Huh?" she asked again, feeling quite mystified.

Just as Remy opened his mouth to elaborate, the door opened once again, and this time it was without knocking. Rogue glanced up to see Ororo standing there, looking none too pleased that it was after ten and there was a boy in Rogue's room.

"Oh...uhm..." Rogue began, flustered.

"Back downstairs to the Sickbay, Gambit. You know the rules."

Remy sighed and stood up, "Yeah...and rules are always a pain in the a-"

"Gambit!" warned Ororo.

Remy gave a vague smile and for a moment Rogue almost believed through those dressings over his eyes, that he could see her, as the smile seemed directed at her. Goosebumps trailed along each arm at the thought. "Night, chere."

* * *

The next few days came and went very quickly for Remy. His condition began to improve enough that he could at least be moved back to his bedroom. School ended for the year, and Christmas was on it's way. One by one, the students of Xavier's began to dwindle. Over a two day period, the dining table became less and less noisy at mealtimes, and when Christmas Eve came there were very few remaining in the mansion.

Remy was glad of the quiet around the mansion although it took some getting used to; it was easy to get peace to listen to the television in the rec room and it was certainly more peaceful in the morning without the loud music and arguing of students fighting over who would get the bathroom first.

Still, for all the peacefulness, Remy couldn't deny that there was a certain awkwardness lingering now. There was an awkwardness between Rogue and Scott at meal times (as Scott was remaining in the mansion for Christmas), and there was a certain awkwardness between himself, Scott, and Rogue.

It almost felt like some kind of bizarre love triangle in theory, although technically there wasn't any _love_ going on that he could tell.

Remy had dreaded Christmas coming up; it had never been particularly a happy time of the year for him. His experiences of Christmas were of his family getting drunk, fighting, or being out on a _'commission'_ as he liked to call it. He couldn't really recall a C_hristmas tree_ ever being in his family home...and he certainly couldn't remember presents either.

When Christmas eve came, the smells of Christmas cooking drifted across most of the west wing of the mansion, and the Christmas music was being played on nearly every radio station. But for all the evidence that Christmas was definitely in Bayville, it didn't feel like Christmas at all to Remy.

He wondered if perhaps he had been able to see the colours of Christmas decorations, or the white of snow, or the glimmer of lights on a tree that it might have made some kind of difference to him. Perhaps, he thought, it was just his experience of the holiday was so vague it wouldn't have made any difference whatsoever.

On Christmas eve just after seven pm (after listening to the news on his radio), he wandered downstairs; the smell of spices lingered in the air as he walked across the foyer, and the sounds of some Johnny Mathis Christmas song echoing down the halls left him feeling like he were in unfamiliar territory. He stood for several moments at the bottom of the stairs trying to absorb the atmosphere, to understand and connect it to something.

Down the hall off to where the rec room was he heard the lull of old music, and he followed it to the door. He stood there in the open doorway, listening at the dulcet voice of Billie Holiday, and the soft music that accompanied. There was humming, and as she was the _last_ girl who had remained in the mansion for the holidays (even Ororo Munro had gone to spend Christmas with family) it didn't take much detective work to realise it was Rogue who was there.

She didn't realise he was there, he realised, because she was probably on the couch which he had come to realise over the past few weeks had it's back facing the open door. He remained there, quiet and listened to her humming away to the music, the song was an unfamiliar one to him; an ancient sounding track that despite it's age seemed almost timeless, the words still poignant, the music still lifting.

Of course, he realise, she would feel comfortable _now_ listening to her music so openly, while no one was there to judge her for listening to music that wasn't popular or modern. It seemed unfair to him, somewhat, that she had to hide this strangely tender side of herself from everyone else, as if it would be letting them into her life just that little bit more. The thought made him sigh, and he hadn't realised how loud he had done until he heard her gasp and shift where she sat, the creak of leather beneath her.

"Jesus," she said, a loud exhale followed, "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," he said, "thought y' woulda heard me comin' down the hall."

"Well Ah didn't," she replied. There was a thump of what he decided to be a book, and he heard it being put down somewhere on a table. He walked in and felt his way around until he located the couch.

"It's so quiet here now that everyone is gone," he stated as he took a seat beside her; he felt his knee just briefly hit hers, and she moved quickly away from him. "So, so quiet." Admittedly, it was small talk. He could think of very little to say to her right now; the tension was still thick between them from days ago

"Ah like it. It's the only time Ah can get peace to read."

"Oh..."

A silence lingered; he didn't like awkward silences and so he tried again. "What is it you're reading now?"

"Just a horror book," she replied, her tone soft.

"About?"

"The usual."

"Vampires?" what else _would_ Rogue be reading. She was an enthusiast for vampire novels and he couldn't remember ever seeing her reading anything else in all the time he'd ever known her and followed her.

He could almost picture her rolling her eyes when she replied. "Yes."

"What's the story 'bout?" he asked trying to sound casual, he leaned back into the leather and tried to get comfortable; he stifled a cough in the tissue he'd brought with him.

Rogue paused, as if she needed to think. "It's...it's about this guy who's a vampire...and he tells the story of his life about how he became a vampire. You...you wouldn't find it all that interestin'."

"I've never been one for readin'," he confessed. "Don't suppose I'll ever be, now."

"Don't be stupid. You'll get your sight back."

"It's been weeks and no one been able t' tell me what's gon' happen...when I might get it back. I don' think it _can_ be brought back. I think they jus' procrastinatin' so I I'll give up."

"Sounds like you already have," Rogue remarked.

"Maybe..." he let his head lean against the backrest and listened to the music. "I like this song," he admitted.

She sounded almost surprised when she replied; "You do?"

"Yeah. I like old music."

"Oh."

"Reminds me o' the music my ol' neighbours used t' play in their backyard at barbecues. Scratchy old records on an old record player dragged out on a porch. I can almost taste the lemonade."

He thought he heard her give a slight laugh and wasn't sure if she was amused or just making fun at his expense. He drummed his fingers absently across his stomach for several moments, Rogue sitting at his side breathing softly and not saying anything at all. Finally, he broke the silence and asked "Y' wan' dance?"

He heard her turn quickly to him, the creak of leather beneath her was loud and fast and he heard her book hit her lap, "huh?" her laugh now was of disbelief.

"Dance. Y' wan' dance? T' this. With _me._"

She hesitated.

"Look, if y' don' wan' t', it's fine," he tried to slide aside the rejection before it hit too hard. "I jus' thought I'd be polite an' ask."

"Ah..." she began, she swallowed and he heard the smacking of her lips, "Ah've just...Ah've never danced before...not to music like this...Ah wouldn't know how."

"Doesn't have t' be any real art t' it..." he stood up, "c'mon..." he held his hand out to her; she didn't offer it to him and he sighed. "What's wrong?"

She gave a deep sigh, "Ah just..."

"What?"

"Ah don't know."

"It's a dance."

"Ah know that."

"It doesn't _mean_ anythin', it's jus' a way t' kill some boredom an' pass some time. Stop over analysin' everything."

Her leather clad hand landed in his timidly, and clasped on loosely. He gripped it tight and pulled her up; his calves hit the coffee table and he grumbled at this as he pushed it out of the way with his left leg. She stood in front of him and he could sense her awkwardness; he felt awkward too and he tried to push it out of his mind. "Gimme y' other hand."

Rogue did as she was told, letting out a nervous exhale as he led it to his shoulder, "can...can you do this without seeing?" she asked.

"Y' can make sure y' don't send me slammin' in t' furniture," he assured, sliding his arm around her small waist and drawing her a little nearer. As he tried to sway with her she tried to sway in the opposite direction, and her foot landed upon his toes; he flinched but kept his grip on her. "Don' leave me with any more injuries please," he pleaded of her, "I've lost my sight and cut my wrist up...I'd like to keep my toes."

"Very funny," she grumbled.

It took a few moments before there was any rhythm. He'd been aware for some time (through general following) that Rogue had a tendency to be clumsy on her feet at times, and had very little rhythm where music was concerned. She found it hard to match his speed.

"Chere, are y' followin' the _music_, or the _lyrics_?" he queried, trying to slow her down.

"Ah...uhm..."

"Music, not words. Y' don' dance t' words..." he explained.

"Ah told you Ah would suck at this."

He boldly pulled her in closer to him, "doesn't matter."

Rogue's breath came out as a shudder and he felt her body tremble beneath his arm, her hand gripped onto his t-shirt tightly and he felt the tug.

"Chere, I-" he began. He wasn't prepared for the interruption.

"Rogue, suit up. We got a mission."

Rogue gave a gasp and pulled away from Remy instantly at the sound of Logan's voice. "What's happening?"

"A mutant is causing chaos in the city and seriously injured three people; police can't take him down and the army can't get there 'cause of the bad weather comin' in. We need you _now._"

The sounds of Logan's heavy footsteps descended away; Remy wondered how he could have missed the sound of them approaching in the first place.

"Ah...Ah gotta go..." Rogue said, sounding flustered; he heard her moving away from him, her breathing was heavy.

"Chere..."

"Hmm?" she asked, hovering momentarily at the door and waiting for his response.

"I...just...wanted to say...be careful," Remy said quickly.

"Ah...Ah will be," she stammered.

As he listened to her footsteps descend along the hallway, he felt apprehension tighten his chest and the loneliness closed in on him just as the darkness of his world had weeks before.

* * *

End of Part 7

Yeah I'm sorry that it's taken so long to get this up. It's been written for a long time but I like to finish the _following_ part of a story before uploading something (incase I need to go back and change something/fix something, etc). Thanks to everyone who's been asking (and messaging!) asking about this part. I'll try not to keep you guys waiting too long for Part 8 :) Happy St. Patrick's day! *guzzles down some booze!*


	8. Part 8

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 8**

**FIRST CHOICE**

**

* * *

**

Remy stood in the foyer not knowing what to do. He'd heard the blackbird jet taking off only seconds before; it was almost earsplitting. The front door was open and he stood there, holding onto it and feeling the bitter winter wind biting at his face. It felt like it might be snowing – or the wind was just blowing snow already on the grounds against his hot face. He felt the flakes sting his cheeks and melt against his warm skin leaving dots of wetness there.

He felt uneasy about Rogue going off to fight. He wished he'd been in some kind of reasonable condition to go with her. Of course she was strong, and capable enough to take care of herself out in _the field _as the X-Men liked to call it. But it would have made him feel much better if he could have at least been there. They were low on numbers. Logan, Hank, Rogue and Scott. Not exactly a full team – in fact it was barely _half_ of a team. That worried him more than it should have.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't leave the front door open and let the cold in; it does cost a tremendous lot to heat this room."

He spun around at the sound of Professor Xavier's voice; how had he not heard the wheelchair? Had he been so preoccupied with his concerns that he could have ignored it completely?

"I'm sorry..." Remy apologised quickly, he pushed the door closed and heard the click as the lock slotted into place. "felt a lil' sick. Needed some air."

"It's alright," the older man assured. "Walk with me."

Remy stepped forward and placed a hand upon the back of the man's wheelchair; the Professor led the way at a slow careful pace so that Remy could keep up. "It's quite normal to be worried," said the Professor.

Remy frowned, "I didn' _say_ I was worried."

"You didn't need to. You're projecting it loud and clear..." the sound of the Professor's voice changed to an odd almost-echo. A swishing sound came at Remy's back quite suddenly and he reached behind him and let his hand skim against something cold and metallic. Elevator doors.

A queasy feeling jolted his stomach and made his cheeks grew hot and his lips feel dry. Was his mind being read? If his mind was being read what else could the man see in his head?

"Are you readin' my thoughts?" Remy asked uneasily; there was a whirring sound and he felt the floor judder and shift as the elevator was moving downwards.

"No."

Remy wasn't so sure of the answer, "if y' are...y' should jus' tell me. I won' be mad...I jus'...I don' like the idea of my thoughts not bein' all mine..."

"I'm not reading your thoughts, I assure you," said the Professor firmly. "That would be unethical. A person's thoughts should be theirs, and theirs alone."

"Y' truly believe that?" Remy asked, still uneasy with the idea. Living with two telepaths had never really bothered him...until now, that is.

"I would perhaps read someone's mind without their permission should the situation be life or death," admitted the Professor. "But I have not read your mind and do not intend to. Besides, your mind is well guarded and you know this. I couldn't read your mind even if I wanted to."

It wasn't something had been fully aware of; he had always had a somewhat vaguest sense that telepaths found it hard to read him at times, but he hadn't known his mind was well guarded. "Well guarded, y' say?"

"Telepath's must focus at all times when in the presence of others to prevent the accidental reading of someone's thoughts. Sometimes, if _we_ let our guard down, we are prone to hearing some unintentionally."

"And y' never heard mine, eh?" Remy asked; the elevator came to a stop, the Professor began to move backwards, forcing him to walk out backwards as well, and they turned oddly. Remy let himself be led down an echoing hallway.

"Have you ever tried to tune into an old radio and heard muffled incoherent voices amongst static?"

"Y' hear that?"

"Nothing that I can make out; not that I tried, you understand."

"'Cause that'd be _unethical."_

"Of course."

"But if y' aren't readin' people...how can y' know how they feel?"

"Empathy," said the Professor, "every person whether mutant or not has a sense of empathy. Being able to read subtle tensions or the voice...even know without someone saying something how they feel..."

"Oh."

"But then I shouldn't need to explain, for I'm sure since the accident you must have developed some empathic sense. I'm sure at times you must have felt things...known how someone feels..."

"Sometimes," Remy confessed quietly, "I can usually tell when Rogue is mad."

"As can we all," the Professor admitted, sounding momentarily amused.

"Where y' takin' me?" Remy asked suddenly.

"The war room," answered the Professor. "A communications room, among other things."

Remy tried to picture the room he had never seen before in his head; he imagined computers but this was all he could imagine. He listened to the sounds of humming technology, and the whirring of the wheelchair as he was led further in.

"There's a chair to your right," the Professor stated.

Remy listened to the sound of keyboard taps, beepings, white noise; a television came on, and a news program was on where a female reporter was elaborating on the event somewhere downtown Bayville where an exceptionally large mutant was causing trouble.

"It ain' _Fred Dukes_, is it?" Remy asked, he felt along what felt to be a countertop or table.

"No. This is an unknown, much larger and much more powerful. He's very disturbed...his grasp of understanding is very limited."

"Y' can tell his thoughts from here?"

"Cerebro lets me pick up on his emotional state."

Remy felt knots in his stomach. How were the four X-Men supposed to drag this huge mutant down by themselves? Without help? Could _he_ have helped had he not been blind? He gripped the edge of the table.

"You're scared for her, aren't you?" Professor Xavier asked, his voice held an odd tenderness that Remy had only heard him use towards his students.

Reacting to defend himself, Remy stiffened, "Well...I don' wanna be wit'out the one person can help me adjust t' this blindness 'til y' find me a cure," he responded.

"You believe it's a weakness to care for someone, don't you?" somehow, the Professor sounded amused in his distraction; Remy heard him typing something else into a keyboard, a few mouseclicks, more white noise.

Remy chewed the inside of his cheek, but said nothing. He didn't deny it was a weakness to care for someone. When you cared, it could be used against you. "Isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"Perhaps," said the Professor.

"I was taught..." said Remy, "that attachment t' _anythin' _whether it be a person or objects...furniture or money...it's all a weakness. If y' don' care so much about somethin'...it doesn' hurt t' lose it..."

"I would have taught you differently, had I participated in your education."

"What would _you _have taught me?" Remy asked, the question seemed flippant but he genuinely did wonder just how differently the Professor would have taught him, the things that would have been different in his life had he found this place earlier, had he been recruited by the X-Men first and not by Magneto.

"That caring _may_ at times be a weakness, but...its also the thing that _drives_ you...that gives you _reasons_ to work for things and that _caring_ makes some things all the more worthwhile fighting for."

Absently Remy tapped his fingers upon the table top as he listened to the Professor; the words penetrated him but he pretended not to care.

"I understand the _complications..."_ said the Professor, "if that is what worries you."

"No...it ain' about the complications," Remy shook his head. "I can _deal_ wit' complications. My life has been _filled_ wit' complications since the day I was born. It ain' nothin' new."

"Are you saying that Rogue's powers don't intimidate you?"

"They don't bother me one bit," Remy confessed.

"Then what causes you to hesitate so much?"

"I can't make someone feel things for me that they don' feel," Remy explained. "I can make girls fall in love wit' me at the drop of a hat. I know all the right things t' say and do...but Rogue is guarded...she got up all sorts of defences against lettin' anyone in...the same things that would work on any other girl aren' gonna work for her..."

The communications of the X-Men on their mission interrupted the conversation, and for now, all was dropped. Remy listened to the battle, the worries and frustrations of the team as they struggled to take down their foe. It put knots in his stomach and made him feel quite sick when they had lost communications with Rogue; the concern built up in him like a dam ready to burst and he sucked in a breath as he listened to the Professor desperately trying to regain contact.

They listened to the crashes and thuds of the dangerous mutant as he hit things while Wolverine dodged and darted across the streets. The Professor kept trying to locate Rogue's signal but it ceased to exist.

"Is she hurt?" Remy asked.

"No, she's there," said the Professor, "her communicator has been damaged."

Remy held an arm over his stomach as if to hold together his nerves and forced himself to exhale and relax. It wasn't working. He couldn't understand why he felt so suddenly worried when the girl was well capable of taking care of herself. He'd seen her in action many times and had never worried for her quite like this.

But then, he couldn't watch her now; he wasn't there to catch her should she fall and he wasn't there to breathe life back into her should it be lost. Remy listened to the communications between the remaining X-Men who still had access to their comms. Their opponent had been taken down by the eventual arrival of the army with some impressive weaponry and a helicopter. The X-Men had to retreat before being targeted as enemies. He was glad the battle was over, and he and the Professor waited upon their return.

* * *

Remy remained in the foyer of the mansion, sitting upon the bottom of the stairs, arms folded upon his knees, knowing that eventually, the X-Men would be home and heading for bed. In the hall, he heard Logan and Scott approaching, talking to each other, sounding weary and slightly sore; he heard Rogue's heavy boots upon the floor following somewhat behind, but she said nothing.

"Waiting for Santa?" snorted Logan to Remy.

"Sure," Remy felt like rolling his eyes at the man.

"He doesn't visit the _bad_ boys and girls, gumbo," Logan began his ascent up the stairs.

"Guess y' never had him visit you either, then, huh?" Remy retorted.

Logan grunted, "I am Santa," he said as he passed Remy; he smacked him upon the back of the head, light enough to only slightly hurt but hard enough that it knocked Remy's head forward a little. "Santa Claws..." Remy heard the distinct sound of Logan's claws becoming briefly extracted and retracted again.

Scott ignored him completely and Remy listened to the sound of two sets of footsteps ascending up the stairs. He didn't hear Rogue's clumping footsteps.

He waited a moment, listening to the slight shifting of her standing there; the thick creak of leather, the sound of her breastplate shifting against the fabric beneath.

"Y' jus' gon' stand there?" Remy asked finally. Whatever was it she wanted? Was she not going to say _anything_ to him?

"Maybe," she responded, sounding tired. He'd become increasingly aware over his time as a temporary resident in the mansion that when Rogue was tired her voice became huskier, and now it sounded an octave lower, and incredibly husky.

_She's _exhausted, Remy realised. And yet, he felt some glimmer of hope within him that she was still standing there, sacrificing moments of precious rest to be there and linger in the hallway to talk to him.

"Ah just...wondered if there's a reason you're sittin' there. Do you need help?"

Of course there was a reason. He wanted to explain the reason to her and be frank about it and just say it but things weren't that easy, and he couldn't just come out and say something such as this in the foyer; anyone could approach at any moment and he didn't want the moment ruined

_I have t' get her alone so we can talk properly,_ he thought. Alone in the foyer wasn't enough, they had to be alone behind a closed door, where privacy mattered.

He racked his brains for a lie, and finally came up with a suitable one. "Yeah. I can't tell which clothes in my dresser are pyjamas. Laundry was done this mornin' and I put stuff away but...I don't know what's what...it all felt the same, other than the jeans."

"Oh," she said softly, "okay."

Remy didn't need her help getting up the stairs any more. He hadn't for a long time now. Yet, he reached out to hold onto her shoulder anyway and she didn't seem to question that. After having worried about her over the past few hours, he needed that closeness to her even if it was only holding onto her shoulder in his impenetrable darkness. Right now, he needed to feel something tangible, even if it was the only closeness he may ever have with her.

He continued to hold on as they took the steps carefully together; it almost felt as if they were walking in synch and Remy couldn't ever remember being quite so in tune with anyone else before.

_She's an idiot for believing me. She already taught me all this...how to know what's what. Why isn't she arguin' with me? Why didn't she jus' tell me to get some independence and figure it out on my own?_ He wondered as they stepped into his bedroom.

He closed the door behind them; he heard her hover and could sense she was questioning him in her mind as to why he'd done so. He knew the rules about closed doors in the mansion; girls and boys weren't meant to be in each other's rooms after nine pm, and especially not behind closed doors. It surprised him that she didn't bring this up and instead crossed his room to where the dresser was.

There was the sound of the drawer rolling open, rustling of clothes, and then came the soft thud of the drawer closing again. Remy stood, awkward in his own room, his throat still feeling dry and sore from all the coughing he had done throughout the week.

"Here," came Rogue's voice, soft and tired, slightly hoarse from what he assumed to be yelling out in the field.

"Thanks," he replied; he sat upon the edge of the bed and leaned down to untie his boots; he pulled the wrong end and the laces became knotted, he gave a frustrated sigh with this. Why had he chosen to wear boots? He wished he'd worn the Velcro strapped sneakers Hank had offered him to make life slightly easier.

"Oh..." Rogue said; he became aware she'd been watching his every move. Strangely, it reminded him of his first day in the mansion, that intense sense of being studied like a specimen in a petri dish. She crossed the room, one slow tentative step at a time and the floorboards beneath the rug creaked slightly as she knelt before him.

"I shouldn't have worn 'em," he apologised. "The sneakers are a bit big; fall off my feet real easy...kinda rub at my heels."

Rogue worked at the lace, "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Y' do so much for me," he sighed, "and all I do is sit 'n complain."

He heard something of a laugh escape her lips; of course, she agreed with this so she had no words of disagreement to offer. He did complain a little too much as of late, and he had never been a complainer in life. He'd always dealt with his lot in life no matter how miserable it had always been. Suddenly his blindness had given him nothing but reason to complain with everything wrong.

"Y' so good t' me. Really," Remy admitted, he tried to make it sound as sincere as it felt; he never had been good at making real feelings sound sincere. They always sounded exaggerated and careless.

"Too good," she agreed, he heard the sounds of her picking awkwardly at the laces trying to get them undone.

"I...never used t' complain, y' know," he admitted. "Just used t' get on with things...nothing mattered."

"Uh huh."

"I mus' get on everyone's nerves, here," he realised.

"You bein' your _charmin'_ self can get on peoples nerves," she admitted, sounding completely amused. Yet the way she said it didn't leave him feeling as bad as he had after suggesting his shortcomings. She'd said _can_, as if to suggest he was only annoying at times, not _all_ of the time. That was something, wasn't it? It meant there must have been times when he _wasn't_ annoying, times when he _didn't_ grind on everyone's nerves. Didn't grind on _her_ nerves.

"I...don' like bein' a burden..."

"You aren't a _burden,_ Remy."

"Yeah I am. I'm a complainin', rude and ungrateful burden."

"You are what you are."

"Chere, I-"

"There, it's untied," she pulled the boot off his foot roughly, breaking him from his words. He tried again, "I-"

She began to untie and loosen the other boot.

"Chere..." he began again, he reached out and grabbed a hold of her shoulder and tried to stop her, "Why y' keep interruptin' me?"

"'Cause Ah don't want to hear you try to talk me out of givin' you back that little vial of glitter...and Ah don't want you tryin' to convince me to not tell anyone about it," Rogue kept her voice low.

"Y' thought that was what I was gon' say?" he laughed nervously. Why did he feel so nervous, he wondered?

"Yeah," she responded, he could picture her shrugging.

"No."

"Oh."

"I was...I was worried," he confessed.

"Hmm?"

"About you...when we lost communications with you."

She paused, he could sense her staring hard at him, and he imagined the look of confusion that was probably plastered upon her face.

"Y' Professor took me down t' the war room...and I listened...I was there the whole time..." he explained to her. "And when we lost communications with you...I felt sick...I thought maybe somethin' had happened..."

"My communicator got damaged," she said slowly after a moment of hesitation.

He drew a deep breath, exhaled and said "Chere, I'm fallin' for you."

"Huh?" she asked sounding thoroughly taken aback now. The other boot had just come off and he heard it fall out of her hands and thump hard on the floor.

"Y' heard."

"Fallin'...for me..." she repeated as if the words were foreign and made little to no sense to her at all.

"In love."

She laughed, it sounded somewhere between uncomfortable and confused.

"It ain' that funny," he said, trying to ignore the feeling that she was making fun of him; oh how that laughter severely bruised his ego. Her laughter may as well have been a sharp knife to stab right through his ribcage and leave a slit in his heart.

"Yes it is," Rogue replied; now he pictured her rolling her eyes with what was left of the vaguest memory of how she looked. "It's just that transference thing, right?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, when a person starts to fall for their teacher or nurse or whatever..." she explained, "it's not _real_ love. We spend all this time together, Ah look _after_ you...of course you're gonna think you're fallin' for me..." she blabbed, sounding incredibly nervous, her voice stammering, her breath fast.

"No," he said, his voice full of annoyance now, "I felt that way long before I came here. Long before...long back when I was followin' y'."

Now she was silent, he could tell the smirk had been wiped right off her face. She was so still he almost thought for a moment she'd left the room entirely, for she made not a sound.

"Well?"

"You're crazy," she stood up; she moved quite a bit away from him judging by the number of footsteps that followed her words.

"Why does it have t' be _crazy_ that someone likes you?"

"You know why," she retorted, sounding upset now.

"I don't _care_ about what your powers can do."

She snorted, "of course it's not gonna bother you. You go through girls like Kleenex at a bedside table."

He frowned, but said nothing.

"Ah've seen in your head; you dock your ship in every port you find. So forgive me if Ah feel a little dubious when you come out and say somethin' completely ridiculous like you think you love me."

"I didn't say _think._ Never _once_ did I say _think," _he responded rather quickly.

"What am Ah supposed to do now, Remy?" she asked.

"Y' could stop overreactin' and tell me whether I have a shot or not," he suggested.

"You wouldn't have _said_ anything if you'd thought you didn't!" she remarked. "Ah mean...you knew when you told me that me bein' _the way Ah am_, it's not like Ah have many other _options,_ is it?"

He stood up suddenly, and as he took a step forward he heard her shift a little back, every creak in the floorboards suggested it. "Y' think I'm takin' my chances now 'cause I reckon y' don't have any other options? Y' think I'm tellin' y' how I feel for y' because I have y' stuck where y' got no other chances with anyone? Y' think by my tellin' you I _love_ y' that y' just gon' take up with me by _default_?"

"That's exactly what Ah think," Rogue uttered. "And you bein' blind...it's not like _you_ have any other chances either right now, is it?" she opened the door, her hand was shaking and he could tell from the sound of it rattling the door handle.

He clenched his fists but could find not the words to respond. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to respond...if he did it would no doubt be the wrong response that would most definitely ruin everything irreparably

"Ah don't want a boyfriend by _default,_" she hissed. "Ah don't need your _pity_ feelings and a _last resort_ relationship."

It was hard to hold his tongue. "Y' weren't my _last resort,_ Rogue. Y' were my _first choice_."

"Ah doubt it."

"Oh c'mon," he groaned.

"No," she retorted harshly. "_You_ c'mon. Ah mean, _seriously,_ what the hell did you think was gonna happen? That you'd _tell me_ and Ah would just _fall_ into your arms?"

"Don't be stupid," he sighed.

"Stupid?" she laughed incredulously. "You're the _stupid_ one. You tell me you love me like you _expect_ things to just work out? Like you _forgot_ who Ah am!"

"I didn' forget," Remy replied quietly. "I jus' don' _care_."

"Well _Ah _do."

The door slammed behind her, harder than he had anticipated. The room seemed to shake beneath him and he let out a very deep and mournful sigh.

* * *

**END OF PART 8**

**Yay! I managed to update without it taking months. This was one of the harder parts to write (which is why it took so long!). As always, thank you to everyone who keeps reviewing, and PMing me and keeping me motivated to get the story written. You seriously all keep me going. Part 9 of course will hopefully be up soon (I'm hoping within a week if writing part 10 goes well!). Thank you guys again! I can't believe so many of you have added me to your author alerts and favourites! You all rock!**

**P.S. the formatting on the document editor here is acting all buggery with me so if this shows up weird, for once I am NOT to blame, lol.**


	9. Part 9

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 9**

**I'M A FOOL**

**

* * *

**

Rogue's words stung.

Rejection had left him reeling; she might as well have sucker punched him. A hard slap to the face might have done it. A ton of bricks or a piano perhaps dropped on him from a great height.

No. All those things would have still been _less_...what was the word..._crushing_ than what she had done. Walking away at such a _crucial_ point of the conversation.

It hurt.

Yes, it definitely hurt.

Remy paced his room at what the radio announced to him was seven in the morning. He'd been unable to sleep; the events of the night just kept repeating themselves over and over in his head, everything she had said seemed to ring throughout his ears vivid and cold and even pulling the pillows over his head and burying his face down into the mattress had seemed to do nothing to mute it.

_Why did y' have t' do somethin' so fuckin' _stupid_ like tell the girl y' love her?_ He asked himself, he shook his head at himself in dismay and moved to the window where the air was significantly colder in the hopes it would help cool the boiling of his blood.

_Reckless Remy LeBeau,_ he thought. _That's what they used t' call me 'cause I did everythin' without ever thinkin' about the consequences. And that's what I did...I opened my big mouth without givin' it a thought t' how she was gon' react._

There had never been any doubt she would react negatively. It had always been Rogue's way to react negatively towards anything good that came into her life. He _should _have somehow expected it but in the heat of the moment it hadn't crossed his mind. He should have also realised an argument would have ensued but somehow that had failed to cross his mind also.

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to fix all this mess and how he was going to get through the whole of a Christmas day with her pretending like nothing had happened so that akward questions weren't raised by the instructors. The last thing he needed was Wolverine's _poke-nosing_ in his love-life.

_Y' need t' fix this...fast. If she gets any_ more_ pissed off wit' y' than she already is...she gon' show the Prof and Logan _exactly _what she foun' in the apartment. It gon' blow everything,_ he told himself sternly. He rubbed his head and tried to ease away the tension building at the back of his neck simultaneously.

The temperature seemed to plummet as he stood there at the window and somehow he sensed that if it wasn't snowing, it was probably on its way. He tried to imagine it, how pristine and white everything out there must have looked.

He couldn't imagine it.

It bothered him so much he couldn't imagine how the snow probably glittered in early morning sun, or how at night it would almost seem to glow. He couldn't imagine how Rogue's cheeks and nose would turn red with the cold, and how her breath would mist in the air. How she'd look in a woollen hat and a thick coat...how the flakes of snow would kiss her long eyelashes.

He pressed his forehead against the glass of the window and sighed deeply. The cold stung his warm skin but it felt somewhat good. Whatever else, he could still _feel_, and that was what was important. Whatever else he couldn't experience through sight, whatever beauty he was missing out on, he couldn't ignore his feelings.

It was after eight he heard the noises of the remaining residents of the mansion begin to come to life. Knowing he would never gain any sleep now, he forced himself to go downstairs despite feeling the general reluctance. He hated that awkward feeling of hearing Rogue's voice downstairs in the foyer (where apparently the mansion's large Christmas tree was (he'd bumped into after someone had put it up without informing him of it's location).

He sat on the bottom steps and listened to Professor Xavier, Logan, Scott Summers and Rogue conversing over Christmas presents. He heard them exchanging gifts, and recognised that distinct ripping of paper as they tore into the wrapping. He wasn't sure they recognised his presence, at first. He was sure they all had their backs to him and whether or not it was deliberate or accidental, he wasn't sure; he had no way of telling of course, but he could somehow sense that he was merely a shadow watching on.

After what seemed to be like a half-hour of chatter between the Four, the Professor cleared his throat and said, "there's still something beneath the tree."

Rogue gave a sigh, "oh. So there is."

Logan grunted, "look, Cajun, there's _somethin'_ here for ya."

Never had the word _look_ had quite an impact. Remy swallowed a bitter taste of disappointment. First for the fact that he was almost sure the man had used the word to get at him, and second...there was presents under a Christmas tree for him. It was something he'd never seen before.

The Professor moved across to where Remy was on the stairs, the soft whirring of his electric wheelchair which was usually just barely audible was somehow louder now that everyone had fallen so silent.

"Here...this is from all of us."

Remy felt something being placed upon his lap; he felt around it to find it was a small textured box with a lid held on by a velvety ribbon. He imagined the ribbon to be deep intense red as his fingers found the edges and tugged gently to untie it. "Wha's this?" he asked confusedly as he lifted the lid to the box and let his fingers dance across whatever was inside; he felt cool metal and plastic beneath his fingertips, and a wire.

"I believe it's called an iPOD shuffle," said the Professor, "it's very easy to use from what the lady in the mall told me...I believe even without your sight you should be able to operate it just fine."

Remy somehow couldn't imagine the Professor going to the mall and picking out gifts; he'd always seemed like the type of man who would have a personal shopper to do that.

"I had Kurt upload some music onto it before he left for the holidays, but if the music is not to your liking, I'm sure Rogue or Scott will help you pick something more suitable," Xavier explained.

Remy swallowed back a lump in his throat; it was the first time he had been truly thankful that his eyes were covered with gauze...they would not see the tears that would have blurred his vision. "I..."

"Just say thanks, Gumbo," Logan grumbled.

"I..." Remy clenched his jaw, "sorry. I don' feel so good..." he placed the box on the steps and got up quickly and rushed up the stairs feeling like his head would explode with the tension of his upset. Even without counting his steps, in his rush he found his bedroom and he stepped inside, shut the door quietly behind himself and pressed his back against it.

He couldn't remember ever crying in his life. Not when he scuffed his knee when he was five, not when he had been called names at school for being a mutant, and not even when a close friend had died from a gator attack two years previous.

So why was he crying now?

* * *

The awkward moment following Remy's sudden departure was awkward and Rogue sat on the floor as the Professor, Logan and Scott looked between each other, confused by the reaction to the present.

"What the hell?" asked Logan.

"That was weird," said Scott. "He didn't even take it with him."

"Ungrateful runt," said Logan; he picked up the open box from where it had been on the table and shook his head, a grumpy expression on his face.

"Logan, please..." the Professor requested; the rest of the sentence went unsaid but it was understood nevertheless.

"What now?" asked Scott, hovering awkwardly wearing a truly heinous scarf that Rogue had chosen to get him for Christmas this year; she'd deliberately chosen the ugliest thing she could find as repayment for the stunt in the Danger Room barely even a week before.

Rogue got to her feet, "Ah...should probably go see what's goin' on," she sighed.

No one seemed to have an argument to this; somehow she wished they had. Why had no one suggested she leave him alone, that he was just being stubborn or stupid? Why had no one suggested leaving him alone because he was still technically the enemy?

Maybe they all felt as lousy about it as she did, she supposed; she glanced over her shoulder at them all sitting in their places looking rather sheepish. Even grumpy Logan who normally disliked Christmas in general seemed rather sheepish all of a sudden as he examined the iPod in the box.

Rogue shook her head slightly, it went unnoticed. She climbed the stairs and walked along the hallways to reach Remy LeBeau's door; it was shut, and as she tried the handle it turned, but the door wouldn't budge inwards; something was in front of it.

_He's blocked us from getting in,_ she realised. She sighed, "Remy, what the hell is goin' on? What was all that about? When someone gives you a present, you say _thanks,_ you don't take off like some ungrateful brat..."

No reply from the other side, but she was almost positive she heard a soft sigh on the other side.

"Aren't you even gonna come back down?"

No answer.

Groaning, she sat folded legged on the floor and let her back lean against the door. "C'mon, Remy. Talk to me."

Finally, an answer followed. "Why? Y' don' wanna hear the things I got t' say."

She let the back of her head rest against the door, her ponytail pushed against the wood reminding her again that she needed to cut the hair that had grown as a result of borrowing Logan's powers. "I'm listenin' now."

"Don't matter," he replied quietly; his voice was muffled but...there was something distinctly different about it that she couldn't place. An upset she'd never heard in him before. Then there was something like...a sob?

"Remy?" she blinked, "are you _cryin'_?"

"No. Jus' go away, alright?" he responded, his voice was hostile but there was a crack between his words.

"Ah don't get it, Remy. What did we _do_?" she asked; the thought he might be crying left her stomach churning and her heart thumping hard. The thought of _anyone_ crying always did this to her, as much as she would deny it did.

"Y' did nothin', alright? Jus' leave me be."

"Is it because of last night?"

"No."

"Then what?"

He shifted; she heard him moving from the door and she heard the doorknob above her head turning; she moved quickly just before the door opened.

"Why does it matter?" he asked, his voice low, his jaw clenched.

"Ah don't know. It just...does."

"Why?" he asked, he leaned against the door frame.

"Because..."

"Why?" he asked, again, this time more forcefully.

"Because it _bothers_ me, Ah guess," she stammered finally.

"Why?"

"'Cause we're supposed to be friends."

"Friends don't slam the door on each other when one of them says they think they're in love," Remy pointed out, his voice cold.

"Friends aren't _meant _to fall in love."

"Didn't stop y' from fallin' for y' lover-boy Scott Summers."

Rogue winced, "God, will you stop bringin' that up, already? I don't even _feel_ that way anymore...I haven't for a while."

"Then why d' y' sound so _hostile_?" Remy asked; although he seemed to be _attempting_ to sound smug, he'd never sounded more serious.

"Because Ah'm sick of bein' _accused_ of playin' favourites...of takin' sides...of feelin' things that Ah don't even feel anymore! Stop tryin' to _tell_ me how Ah feel. You don't know how Ah feel...you never _ask_ me! You just make all these stupid accusations and claims that you know how Ah feel and how Ah _think_ and Ah wish you'd just _stop!"_

"I only speak the _truth_, Chere. Y' holdin' out for him...y' wastin' time waitin' for a guy who's never gon' want y'. Not like _I do._"

She turned away from him and held her breath; she tried to count to ten like Ororo had tried to teach her to do in times when her temper flared. It never usually worked and she doubted it would now.

"I might not _be_ y' first love, Rogue. Hell, I might not even be the one y' _want_..." his voice softened, "but I could be the one that _lasts_. The one that stands _by_ y'...the one who's gon' be _patient_ and _understandin'..._"

Rogue snorted, "as if you know the _meaning_ of those words."

"I know the meanin' of the word _love_, Rogue. It ain' a word I'd use lightly. Ain' a word I use _at all_...never before. Wasn' sure I even _believed_ in it..."

"If you don't believe in love, how can you even _think_ you might be?" she scoffed.

"There's gotta be some explanation for how I feel about y'," he offered as an explanation.

"Like Ah said...it's just a stupid phase because Ah'm the one who's helpin' you with your condition."

"And like_ I_ said," he grunted, "I felt this way long before I even came here...before I got blinded. Before y' even came t' The Big Easy with me..."

She sighed deeply, the conversation was going nowhere. "Why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because you felt _bothered_."

Rogue turned back towards him and glowered at him, although she felt silly knowing he'd never see this gesture. "Yeah...about why you ran up here."

"Sure."

"Why _did_ you come all the way up here in a hurry?"

Remy paused, his face tight, his mouth trembled momentarily, he lowered his head, almost as if he were bowing it in shame. "I've never had a Christmas present before."

She blinked, "excuse me?"

"Y' heard me," he muttered, "so go ahead, make assumptions, or make fun. Do whatever, I don't care. I was taken by surprise, I didn' expect a present. I know none of y' all care about me, why _would_ I expect anythin'?"

Rogue had no answer.

"But then I shouldn' be surprised. Professor X is classy like that; he'd rather hand a present to an _enemy_ than see someone in his home goin' without a present at Christmas."

"Who ever _said_ we didn' care about you?" she asked quietly.

"Y' don't have to say it," he retorted.

"Whatever," she shook her head furiously at him. "You go on about _us_ makin' assumptions. You make more than _anyone! _Ah'm done, okay?" she turned and left the hall, she heard his door close quietly; she was almost sure she heard a loud melancholy sigh from where she was.

* * *

Remy stood at the window once again, his fingers pressed against the freezing glass; the condensation slightly dampened his fingers. He pushed his head against the glass and tried to ease away the thumping of the headache that had come with his attempt to prevent himself from crying.

_Why is it every time I try t' stop cryin', it feels like a knife is drivin' right int' y' skull?_ He wondered as he let out yet another sigh. He couldn't _stop_ sighing. It seemed like there was so much sadness welling up in his chest that he had to keep expelling it short bursts to stop it from overflowing within him. His chest felt _tight_ from the sadness, and and while he was unfamiliar with the sensation, he understood it completely. What he didn't understand was how to deal with it.

_Why couldn't I jus' say thanks and pretend like everythin' is fine? I'm the _master_ at pretendin', at lyin'. _

He shook his head at himself and told himself he wouldn't have been able to win regardless of his reaction. He felt around the window for the locks and found them at the bottom base of the window; they were stiff from rarely ever being opened (this being a room that was obviously used very rarely). The window shifted upwards with difficulty, grinding against the paintwork, glass slightly rattling as if in protest. The cold air rushed in almost violently, and he felt the cold frozen kiss of snowflakes blow into his face and land upon his bare hands.

The air felt good despite the chill, he hugged himself against it and let the cold wind rush against his warm face; he breathed the cold crisp air in and let out deep sighs that he tried to picture misting into the air like great clouds that would disappear into a grey sky.

He hadn't heard the door open; he felt something hit his back and it caught him by surprise; the item was small and hard, and he heard the clatter of slightly hollow cardboard upon the wooden floor.

"Still don't think anyone here gives a fuck?" came Rogue's demand, her voice almost acid-like so much that it stung him more than the cold did. He winced at this and he knelt upon the floor to feel around for whatever had been thrown at him. Rogue's footsteps were distinctive down the hall; her heavy boots made a very definite stomp upon the wooden floorboards and the mansion was so quiet with the lack of students currently remaining for the holidays that the sound seemed louder, more echoing and thunderous.

Remy's hand landed finally on the object; a box, hard-cardboard but not quite as good quality as that of the present he'd received earlier. There were no ribbons or bows upon it, and the box was narrow, rectangular with no lid he could really detect. Through his fumbling, he felt it open; it flipped open and he discovered it was on it's side.

Curiously, his now cold fingers delicately traced the item; the curve of hard-but-unmistakable leather, the cold smooth surface of glass.

_It's a watch,_ he realised with some surprise. But he felt confused; Remy LeBeau wasn't the kind of man to _wear_ watches and how was he supposed to tell the time from something he couldn't see? He went to take it out of the box, holding it by the sides of the large face; a soft click followed and he realised with even more surprise than before that the glass of the watch had flipped up and his fingers could trace the shape of the face beneath; he could feel both the minute and the hour hands fully in detail. The top of the face he found easily by the fact that it had two notches at the twelve o'clock position, while three, six and nine had one notch each. It was forty-five minutes past nine am.

A soft confused laugh escaped his lips; it was a watch for someone who could not see, and it was a gift that had _obviously_ been intended for him. Then he realised why Rogue had thrown it at him.

At some point in the past month, she'd been out...and located such a watch, a watch that she would have had to have gone to a _specialist_ to buy. A watch that probably cost more than most standard watches did.

He swallowed hard now, emotion welled up within him and he hated the feeling of wanting to cry again; crying was not something men his age were supposed to do. He pulled himself up using the windowsill to hoist himself up; holding the watch in one hand he went to the hall, tracing his way to the stairwell; his boot hit something at the top of the stairs and he heard a grunt.

Rogue was sitting at the top of the stairs; it seemed she was there alone, for the sound of everyone who had been in the foyer was no longer there, and music and voices were distant down hallways nowhere nearby.

He took a deep breath and took a step sideways; the stairway was double wide and allowed for him to sit beside her there. "You bought this."

Rogue said nothing, he could hear her breathing through her nose, her exhales hard, he still sensed her anger and somehow now he could understand it.

"Y'..musta put a lot of thought into this..." he sighed as he felt around the watch with both hands and tried to imagine how the cracked leather of the straps looked, tried to imagine whether they were brown or black, if the edging was silver or gold, if the hands were black or gold or silver, if the notches were black, if the face was white or black.

_Black...with silver edging, and a black face, with silver notches and silver hands,_ he decided, knowing Rogue's tastes. He supposed he'd never know unless he asked, and he didn't want to ask...it would ruin the mystery of it.

She snorted, "Not really. Everyone needs to know the time."

He detected the lie there. She _had_ put thought into this, and it was evident in how upset she was with him.

"It's..." he began.

"It's a watch," she stated simply, still sounding annoyed.

"It's...probably the nicest thing anyone ever give me," he admitted; his own admission startled him. He was being truthful. No one had ever given him a watch before; he'd had watches, sure, ones he'd stolen, but never a watch that had been a gift, he'd never bought one, never truly _needed_ one.

"Sure," she snorted, "Professor gives you an expensive MP3 player, but the _watch_ is nicer," he could almost hear her roll her eyes at him.

He thought for a moment, chewing his lip. "Y' given me so much since I been here. Y' give me somethin' I thought I'd lost...somethin' I never thought I'd have again. Best gift I could ever get."

"And that would be?"

"My independence," he answered softly.

She shifted where she sat, "You gave _yourself_ that when you stopped complainin' and gave things a chance," she sighed.

He chewed the inside of his cheek; tentatively, he reached out in his world of darkness and placed his hand upon her; it was her arm. Her sleeve was chiffon-like beneath his bare fingers and he imagined her bare arm beneath it, her skin milky and velvet soft. "No...it was _you_ who gave me that. Y' pretend t' give up on me sometimes but..." he swallowed and nerves pinched at his stomach. "But y' have too much heart t' really do that t' someone...y' pretend t' come off as all cold...aloof and angry...but...y' care more than anyone I know."

She shifted again, uncomfortably it seemed, but she did not pull her arm away from him; she sighed again, deep and unrelenting.

"Y' an incredible girl, chere..."

The sound of her scoffing followed.

"I might be blind..." he began awkwardly, "but Summers is the one who _can't_ see. Can't see how amazin' y' are...how _beautiful_ y' are..."

Rogue's breath gave a shudder and she pulled her arm out from under his hand.

_I'm losin' her,_ he thought miserably.

A long pause of silence passed between them, he drew his breath, "I'm a fool to want you..." he said quietly.

It seemed she became suddenly so still.

He began again, "I'm a fool t' want you..." he repeated, this time singing the words perhaps more off-key and less romantically than Lady Day may have near the end of her sad life.

She was so silent, so incredibly still that he almost thought for one moment she might have vanished, or left him somehow without him hearing.

"T' want a love...that can't be true..." he sang low, just barely audible, just for _her. "_A love that's there...f' others too..." he slid his arm behind her and carefully slipped it around her shoulders hoping that she wouldn't be predictable and pull away.

"I'm a fool t' _hold you_," he sang, leaning close to breathe each word near what he hoped was her ear. "Jus' a fool t' hold you..." he left his voice such a whisper, her body stiffened beneath his touch. "T' seek a kiss...that mine alone...t' share a kiss the devil has known..."

She let out a soft sound that was somewhere between a sigh sniffle; Remy forced himself to continue, the song may not have completely been true to their situation, but her reaction let him know that she felt _something_, that for just a moment, he may have been capable of bewitching her.

"Time and time again...I've said I'd leave you. Time and time again...I went away. But then would come the time when I would need you..." he murmured near her ear, trying to keep in tune with how he vaguely remembered the music to be, "and once again, these words I'll have t' say...I'm a fool t' want you...take me now, I need you..."

He leaned in a little, his chin gently grazed her shoulder and he let it sit there, and sang the last of the lyrics, "I know it's wrong, it must be wrong...but right or wrong...I can't get along...without you..."

She shifted and he had the distinct impression she was looking right at him; his heart was thumping furiously in his chest. Had he really just _sang_ to her? He might have laughed if anyone he'd ever known had told him they'd sang to a girl any romantic song. The idea might have seemed corny, might have seemed like a cheap way to trick a girl to bed.

But it felt neither corny, nor like trickery.

"Ssh..." she hushed, he felt the suede touch of a gloved fingertip press against his dry lips. He pushed a kiss into the finger and she moved away from him altogether; he couldn't help but feel the gesture had a lot to do with that. "Ah...Ah have to go help with makin' dinner."

It left him aching hard that she left things like that, his breath was fast, his heart hammering and his eyes stinging with tears she'd hopefully never have to see.

There was nothing else to do now but wait.

Whatever happened now...it was all up to her.

* * *

**End of Part 9**

**Wee! 2 updates in 2 days! I _am_ exhausted! This part I think so far has been one of my favourites to write on so many levels (thanks to "Lady Day" Billie Holiday herself of course for inspiring a part of it). **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I can't believe this story has over 110 reviews. It's crazy! I'd have never thought this story would have been popular enough to get 10 reviews let alone 110! You're all so awesome for your support! *hugs*.**


	10. Part 10

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 10**

**ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM**

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* * *

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Rogue found it impossible to concentrate helping with dinner; she spilled soup on the floor, accidentally pulled a pan out of a cupboard wrong sending all the contents crashing to the floor, and to top it off she sliced a finger open chopping carrots and had to have two stitches in her thumb to close the wound. Never the less, she, Logan and Scott continued to work side by side in the kitchen, trying to tackle the dinner.

When lunch-time came, Scott's cellphone rang, and Rogue heard him speaking out in the hallway to Jean Grey, as they relayed to each other what presents they'd received.

She couldn't deny the words still stung when she heard Scott murmur to Jean over the phone "_I miss you,_" although somehow she was almost positive she was over Scott. She did note, however, that over the phone, she did not hear Scott tell Jean Grey he loved her.

In fact, she was almost positive that Scott never _had_ said these words before. Although the whole experience had been horribly uncomfortable leaving her to the point where she was so nervous and confused she didn't know how to react...a small part of her still felt a tiny tinge of satisfaction. No boy had ever said 'I love you' to Jean Grey, and she was almost positive that no boy had ever sang Billie Holiday to Jean for her ears alone.

It almost seemed something Rogue thought she may have read from a vampire novel, or one of the many fantasy novels that sat on her bedroom bookshelf. To be serenaded like a beautiful seductress, a princess, a heroine; suddenly she almost felt like the main character in her own storybook. For that moment, everything had been all about her, from the way he'd held onto her arm, and then the way he'd slid his arm around her and sang in such a soft whispery tone to her.

The problem was, she felt like this had been done before; he'd so well practised the song, had known all the words, the timing, the key it was in, he'd known just how low to sing it to make it sound _real. _The whole thing was nothing more than an illusion he had elaborately weaved to draw her into a world she could never be a part of.

"You're quiet," said Logan while he and her set the table in the formal dining hall; it was odd, with a table that could easily sit perhaps twenty people that it should be set up for just five people. Still, the best plates came out, as did the best glasses and the nice silverware, the real cloth napkins held in silver napkin rings, the real silver candlesticks gleamed and there was a centrepiece that the Professor had spent all morning putting together.

It was a tradition, he had informed Rogue as he set it upon the table, that his family had always put together elaborate centrepieces for the table on holidays. She wondered if she might take on this tradition herself some day and pass it on to others?

_Who would I pass it to?_ She thought at herself, rolling her eyes at the idea of it. _It's not like I'll ever have kids or grandkids._

"Sorry...just tired," she admitted. It was _partly_ true. She was tired; she hadn't slept much after what had happened the night before. The whole situation kept repeating in her head and she'd spent most of the night wishing it had all turned out differently, and thought of things she may have said.

In the end, she couldn't figure out any better way to react than she already had.

"You've been _funny_ since you went up to speak to Gumbo. He bein' a creep again?" Logan asked; he straightened up a knife next to a plate and glanced down to check it was perfectly lined up.

"No...not at all," Rogue replied. She wasn't sure if she was lying or not. She wouldn't call what had happened 'bein' a creep' necessarily. She wasn't sure _what_ to call it really.

"Look, if he's bein' stupid about things, he'll figure it out," Logan explained simply, he examined a spoon and saw it to be slightly smeared so he rubbed it clean with the hem of his shirt.

Rogue wondered if this were true. Was this just one more stupid thing he would figure out the solution to or begin to understand as anything other than the way he thought it to be? Would he finally figure out that what he was feeling was just an immature infatuation that truthfully meant nothing really.

_He sounded...so sure,_ she thought dully. _Like he knew _exactly _how he felt, like there was never any doubt in his mind at all it, like there couldn't have been any other reason for how he felt other than what he said._

Oh but how preposterous it seemed, that Remy LeBeau could come out with something as outrageous as 'I'm falling in love with you' and mean it.

"I gotta admit," said Logan after a moment of contemplation, "he's not as much of a complainer these days as he was when he first got here."

"Yeah...he's simmered down a little," Rogue shrugged.

"You guys are getting along okay?" Logan asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"About the same as usual," Rogue shrugged. It seemed to be the truth.

While dinner was cooking and the three ran back and forth trying to do everything to be prepared for the Christmas dinner, phone calls came from various students to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and while on the phone to Kitty listening to details of Hanukkah gifts, Rogue pondered if perhaps she should ask the slightly younger girl's advice about what to do about Remy LeBeau's sudden proclamation of love.

Rogue decided against telling anyone. How _could_ she come out and say such things? _Hey guess what, Remy LeBeau thinks he loves me..._

She could only imagine their responses. Logan would laugh, and make fun, Scott would tell her he was deceiving her, Kitty would probably suggest she go for it just to find out how it is to have a boyfriend, and the Professor would advise her to be careful. She already knew everyone well enough to know what they would all say, why bother bringing them into it at all?

Besides, it was no one's business...and it wasn't really worth bothering over anyway, was it?

* * *

Remy lay across the bed; he'd been lying listening to nothing but the silence of his room and the only vaguest echoes of Christmas music from downstairs. He wasn't sure if he had dozed off or not but it seemed that as he'd rolled over to get comfortable, a disorientation had come over him, and it was the same disorientation that frequently came whenever he dozed off accidentally in his blind state; how could you tell if you had been sleeping if you couldn't tell if you'd closed your eyes or not?

He reached out and felt around on the bedside cabinet until he found the watch Rogue had given him; he picked it up, found the little release for the glass over the face and felt for the time. It was after 2.40pm from what he could gather, it certainly couldn't be _2.40am,_ could it?

No, the Christmas music was still playing downstairs and that definitely wouldn't be playing so that anyone could hear it past 10pm, let alone 2am. _Guess I did doze off,_ he reasoned as he scratched his head and sat up with a tired yawn; his neck felt stiff and his back tight.

Breathing in, the smell of delicious cooking downstairs seemed to subtly fill his senses and he felt his stomach rumble reminding him he had not eaten this morning nor last night.

He left his room after putting the too-loose sneakers on he'd griped about only last night and he went downstairs, the unmistakeable smell of roasted chicken seemed to blast him and his stomach gurgled, overwhelmed by hunger. He followed the smells to the kitchen, only one set of footsteps were moving around in there, whoever was there seeming to disregard him as he hovered in the doorway.

_Clump, Clump, Clump. _The heavy and distinctive thud of Rogue's boots. The girl may have been slim and lithe, but there was nothing delicate or feminine about the sound of her gait. Her footsteps were the second heaviest in the mansion; Logan's of course came first.

There were other sounds in the kitchen; the bubbling of boiling water, the hiss and spit of something frying. The smells all enveloped him, wrapping around him like a delicious blanket of promise. He would eat good tonight – for once.

"Smells good," he finally said.

He heard her gasp and the shift of her as she moved. "Jesus, are you _tryin' _to give me a heartattack?" she demanded.

"Sorry. Thought y' maybe knew I was here."

"No," Rogue replied, sounding flustered. "Where have you been?"

"Sleepin', I guess," he scratched his stubbled cheek, "where's everyone else?"

"Scott is on the phone to his brother, Logan is outside havin' a cigar, and the Professor is makin' a phone-call to some colleagues."

"And they left you in charge the food, eh?" he asked, leaning there in the doorway trying to ignore the hunger pangs.

"You say that like you think Ah'm incapable."

"T' be fair, there have been some pretty heinous meals come outta this kitchen. I'm sure y' weren't responsible for most of them, but at some point I've tasted y' cookin'."

"Haha," Rogue scoffed. "Mr. Wiseguy. Let's all see how you do when you get your sight back."  
"When I get my sight back, y' ain' gonna see my ass for dust, chere. Y' think I be here cookin' a banquet?" he responded.

There was a pause, and it seemed oddly uncomfortable. "Ah...Ah guess not."

He realised his mistake. How much of a wrong signal was it to tell a girl he loved her but then claim that the moment he had his sight back he would be out of the door so fast Pietro Maximoff would have struggled to keep up. If anything, he had probably just confirmed her suspicions about his feelings.

Remy stepped in slowly and wandered over to the kitchen table; he pressed both hands against the nearest chair (the one he always sat upon at meal times) and stood, leaning slightly forward. "I mean..." he contemplated carefully, but he lightened his voice. "It's...not like...there's a reason for me to stay..."

She had no reply; he wasn't sure he had expected one.

"Is there?" he asked carefully.

Rogue apparently needed a moment to think about this; the sound of bubbling seemed to die down a little and he heard wood scrape against metal as she stirred whatever was on the stove.

"_Is there_?" he tried again, this time perhaps sounding a little more hopeful.

A sigh, "Ah don't know, Remy..."

"Oh," he said quietly, he lowered his head and pursed his lips together tightly.

"What..." she began, her voice slight, "What would it take...for you to stay...what would be a _reason_ to you?"

A glimmer of hope in his darkness. If she was asking, that meant _something,_ didn't it? It was better than nothing. It was better than a flat out _no._ "I dunno," he shrugged, "maybe if I got recruited...or...if I had friends here..." he reeled off, "or..t' be near someone I _loved_."

A scoff passed her lips, followed by a frustrated sigh.

"What?" he demanded impatiently.

"You," she responded, sounding upset. "You say it so...casually."

"How y' want me t' say it? Y' want me t' stammer? T' whisper it? T' write it in a poem? What does it _take,_ Rogue?"

She was quiet.

"How many _ways_ are there for me t' say I love y'?" he asked. "'Cause I dunno _any_ other way t' make it clearer."

"You just say it like...it's...an every day thing...like you just figured out you like _pasta_..._"_

_"_I can't believe y' standin' there _chastisin'_ me for bein' up front. Y' want me t' jus' do what _you_ did? Y' want me t' wait around forever hopin' that y' one day be the one figure things out and then end up bein' overlooked for someone else?"

"That's _not_ what Ah did."

"I don' wanna stand around and wait, Rogue. In our lives, we see danger every week...y' coulda died last night...the whole time I sat there thinkin' _fuck,_ _I never even told the girl how I feel..."_

"So...what, your _worryin'_ about me last night is the reason you think you need to profess this _love_ you claim to have for me? 'Cause you _panicked?_"

"I was gon' _profess_ my fuckin' love t' y' before Logan walked in on us and told y' that y' had t' go on a mission!" he slammed his hands against the table. "Don' you _dare_ stand there and accuse me of feelin' things 'cause of panic and confusion! I know how I Goddamn feel and no one is ever gon' tell me different!"

Rogue drew a breath deeply and let it out slowly and shakily; Remy listened to this and hoped she would say something. She didn't.

He sighed, "I love y'. But y' don' care. Y' don' ask _why_ I love y'...or...when I first figured it out...or how it felt when y' pined after a guy I was scared y' would end up with – the guy who I can't even _compare_ to in your eyes. Y' don' wanna know how many nights I lay _awake_ thinkin' of how I would tell y'. Y' don' wanna know how many times I followed y' and was on the _verge_ of tellin' y'..." he swallowed, "and y' don' wanna know how _bad_ it hurts now that I'm here pourin' my guts out and you're standin' there like y' don' give a fuck..."

"Remy Ah..."

"Hey, that soup should be ready about now."

They both quietened at the sound of Scott Summer's voice as he entered the kitchen; Remy had so been caught up in his feelings and his admissions that he hadn't heard the footsteps approach at all.

Remy recomposed himself, and remarked, "good. I'm famished. Where we eatin'?"

Rogue stammered, her voice strange. "In..in the formal dinin' room. It's..."

"It's down the hall near the Professor's office. I know," Remy responded, and with that, he turned on his heel and left the kitchen, cursing interruptions and most importantly, Scott Summers.

* * *

Logan served the soup; Rogue couldn't help but detect the strong whiff of Cigar clinging to him as he ladled a generous serving of the soup into the fancy bowl before her. She glanced down into the soup; a simple vegetable soup that had still taken since the morning to cook.

Her appetite had mysteriously vanished somewhere between the making of that soup and serving of it, but then, if she had to be honest, her appetite had probably diminished since Remy's admission of love the night before.

Subtly, she glanced over to Remy as she raised her spoon to her lips and blew gently to cool it. Remy looked miserable; his hair was unkempt, his shirt wrinkled (he'd slept in it, quite obviously), and his face was unshaven. He felt around for the spoon and found it, and dipped it into the bowl, the metal hitting the porcelain as he pushed it in to the bottom.

She'd seen Remy look miserable before; the days following the accident that had left him blinded had been perhaps the worst she'd seen until now. Even as he ate the soup he didn't seem to find much joy in it although as she tried it, it was possibly the most delicious thing that had been served in the mansion for many months.

"This soup is excellent," said the Professor, impressed.

"Yeah, it's not bad," said Logan. "You kids make a pretty good soup."

"It was a joint effort," replied Scott, sounding quite satisfied with the compliment. "Me and Rogue make a pretty good team."

Rogue raised her eyes to Remy again, his jaw seemed to clench at this statement. _He really doesn't like that,_ she thought dully. _The thought of me and Scott bein' good together at anythin'..._

Rogue glanced down uneasily into her soup again, she had the sense this was really going to be an awkward meal and had since last night. This would be perhaps one of the most awkward she'd ever had to face in her life; it wouldn't have been more embarrassing and awkward even if everyone was sat at the table naked wearing party-hats.

Eating quietly, everyone seemed to be able to sense the tension. Rogue was fully aware of Logan glancing back and forth between Remy LeBeau and herself; he seemed to be the most aware of what was going on but he said nothing to draw attention to it, for which she was thankful. She also had the vaguest sense the Professor picked up on it, but he tried to make light conversation in asking them about their Christmas gifts, what they thought of dinner and what they planned to do for the rest of the evening after dinner. Scott was apparently going to phone Jean (yet again). Logan was going to go to a bar for a quiet beer and perhaps some pool.

Rogue hadn't planned that far ahead, and neither had Remy.

Remy had his usual negative reply nevertheless. "Not much I _can_ do, really, is there?" he shot. Rogue could see in his face that he hadn't meant to snap at the Professor, there was regret there, and he slightly shrunk in his seat as he considered his response. "I can either listen t' music, or sit in silence, not much else, really," he reminded irritably.

"I'm sorry," said the Professor, his expression perhaps slightly guilty too. But of course, Rogue hadn't expected anything else of the Professor. It was his way to be guilty even over things that had very little to do with him. The Professor had always taken the weight of the world upon his own shoulders, and it did not surprise Rogue now that he should take on Remy's.

"Sorry," Remy said too. "This is my first Christmas dinner, guess I ought t' be a little more cheery, eh? I don' wanna bring y' all down."

"You've never had a Christmas dinner before?" asked Professor Xavier, sounding quite surprised.

Remy gave something of a strange laugh. "Never had _Christmas."_

The Professor glanced at Rogue, his expression was uneasy, his piercing eyes clouded with concern. "Your father didn't celebrate it?"

"We didn't celebrate much o' anythin' in our house," admitted Remy with a sigh. "Birthdays were just like...any other day...Christmas was jus' the birthday of the son of a God we gave up believin' in long ago."

Rogue looked at Logan, who was watching Remy with an intense expression as he listened; she'd never thought she'd see that kind of pity for Remy on Logan's face, but it was there. Logan felt sorry for Remy.

"I'm not gon' say I didn' have a happy childhood," Remy finished the last of his soup and pushed the bowl away, "there were some good times...I never went wit' out somethin' I needed, and my life coulda been worse..."

Scott began to collect the empty bowls as Remy continued to talk.

"I used t' run with a gang of four other kids when I was on the streets before Jean-Luc find me," Remy admitted. "Only two of them are alive now."

"What happened to them?" asked the Professor softly.

Remy gave a sigh, "y'know, the usual stuff that happens t' runaway kids and orphans...the bad stuff. Mostly drugs. The two who survived are in prison now 'cause they got caught for possession with intent t' sell," Remy shrugged.

Rogue kept staring at the table cloth, her cheeks felt hot and yet her hands felt oddly cold beneath her gloves.

"I can't say I ever felt like Jean-Luc _loved_ me..." Remy said after a moment of contemplation, "and he may have encouraged me int' a life of crime for his own gain...but he never for one minute let me fall int' a life o' drugs, and for that I guess I should be thankful he took me in."

Rogue left the table quietly, saying nothing, to help Scott in the kitchen with the main course. Scott's face was grim as he put the chicken on a dish. Rogue glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes as she took the pan of roasted vegetables from the oven.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Scott asked quietly.

Perhaps it was all that had happened over the last month but sudden, she seemed to see Scott as a different person entirely. Sure, he was still the same Scott Summers who had come to her aid in battle _many_ times, but he wasn't as appealing as she'd once thought, his voice didn't hold the same sweet key, nor his views didn't seem to be quite so agreeable anymore.

She tried to force herself out of the thoughts and bring herself back to reality. What was it he had asked again? "Hmm?"

"About what his life used to be like. You know...the streets, never having Christmas, his father never liking him..."

"Oh," said Rogue, she grabbed a large spoon and dished the vegetables out into a large serving bowl. "He's telling the truth," she replied softly. Just to admit it brought a great sadness to her. Christmas felt horribly depressing and suddenly she understood why so many suicides seemed to occur at this time of the year.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"He doesn't sound...too...cut up about it..." Scott admitted.

"Ah've met his daddy..." she reminded, "and...Ah've touched Remy...had his thoughts in my head...and the things he says add up to the things Ah've seen...however vague and brief they were."

Scott lowered his head, his cheek slightly twitching. Rogue wondered if it was just her imagination or was Scott beginning to feel somewhat sorry for Remy? Was real guilt beginning to surface now that time had passed?

"Then I guess it's no surprise he turned out the way he did," said Scott after a moment of reflection as he stirred the gravy in the pot before pouring it into a gravy boat. "He's still our enemy though...and I have a _hard_ time seeing past that."

"Me...you...Remy...we all have somethin' in common, Scott."

"Which is?"

"We're all _Orphans,_ Scott," Rogue reminded, "and we've all been misled by people we thought were tryin' to help us."

Scott stiffened a little, seeming to remember exactly what she was referring to.

"You and Ah _both_ know it isn't easy getting along without a parent to guide you. All it takes is the _wrong_ person to become involved with your life and you can suddenly find yourself on the wrong path. Even with a sense of right and wrong, we know all it takes is someone to skew the way you think about things and suddenly you're the enemy. Don't you think that's maybe what happened to Remy?"

Scott didn't respond.

"Ah was led to believe the X-Men were the enemies," Rogue reminded, "and Magneto fooled you into believin' forced evolution was the next step into makin' everythin' better for our kind..."

Scott's face twisted at the memory, it was something he didn't necessarily want to remember and had done a great deal of avoiding thinking and indeed speaking of since the incident she was referring.

"I get it, Rogue, really I do," Scott finally confessed. "And I _somewhat_ feel bad for him that he's had a lot of crap to face just like the rest of us did. But he's still done underhanded things – and that was what he was doing when we caught him in that chemical plant...and until he _admits_ to what that was and comes clean, how are we _ever_ supposed to trust him. How am I ever supposed to feel _sorry_ about blinding the guy when for all I know, my _doing_ that might have saved Bayville from being blown off the face of the planet?" Scott explained. "What if he was working for some enemy bigger than any of us have ever faced, bigger than Apocalypse and Magneto and everyone else put together...someone who could have put the end to all of us?"

Rogue gazed down into the roasted vegetables. It was the question she'd been asking herself since the day the incident had occurred, and it was the question she hadn't been able to ignore.

"I don't want to _hate_ the guy, Rogue. Hate is such a waste of time...the Professor has taught us that half-a-million times. But I can't _like_ him...not until I know for sure what's going on, and what he was up to that day. It's the elephant in the room; I can't ignore it and I can't go on any further with the guy _until it's addressed._"

Rogue had to wonder if that was part of her problem. That elephant in the room.

* * *

**End of Part 10**

Thanks to everyone as always for taking the time to review, I love hearing from you all and it's always interesting to hear your thoughts.

Thanks to Pointyearsrule who left the review regarding Remy's empathy. I understand and know of course that Remy was far more empathic in the comics than he appeared to be in Evo (and often at times I do think perhaps the phrase "charm the pants off you" could have been invented by Remy at times when it came to women in particular! lol). Of course, in the Evo-verse, it was never really touched upon other than a vague reference to him charming Rogue initially with eye contact (which you did pick upon), but since Remy can't actually _use_ that method he can't project his feelings as well as he would have in the comics (so charming Rogue and projecting to her his feelings he would find alot harder in general anyway, and of course, without his sight, has a harder time reading feelings too.

But note, there are various references in previous parts of this story where he does "sense" people's feelings or moods but it wouldn't actually occur to him what he was doing as he vaguely passes it off as a heightened 'sense' due to his blindness. The Professor has picked upon it and most noticeably in part 8 tries to get Remy to acknowledge it in a subtle way (and it comes into reference later in the story which is still in progress). My version of Remy perhaps slightly off of the Evo version, is still a teenaged Remy without the full development of all of his abilities and talents and therefore, probably won't be as accurate as people would probably like. All things aside, it's just fanfiction at the end of the day and hopefully it won't deter people from wanting to read more because of a noticeable "flaw" in character continuity (I didn't think that myself it was but oh well..) :/


	11. Part 11

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 11**

**PROMISE**

* * *

Getting through the whole of Christmas dinner, Rogue thought, to be so strange. Perhaps it was just Remy's admissions throughout the last twenty-four hours that had made it hard to celebrate anything; his love, his life, his lack of presents and celebration of anything...

It all left her feeling so terribly empty as she helped clear away the dishes after dinner; Scott and Logan were in the kitchen cleaning the pile of dishes from the first and main course, and the Professor and Remy had both retired to the formal living room.

As she stacked the bowls from dessert (careful not to get any of the leftovers on her gloves), she wondered what Remy and the Professor would be discussing out of earshot of herself, Logan and Scott. She felt horrified with the idea of Remy perhaps telling the Professor of the night before when he'd admitted his so-called feelings.

Trying to shake off the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she carried the bowls and some glasses through to the kitchen on a large silver tray and she placed it upon the counter top. "That's the last of it," she said, and she mopped the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve.

"Warm?" Logan asked glancing over his shoulder at her as he stood at the sink.

"Ah feel a little sick," she confessed.

"No wonder," said Scott with a slight smirk, "you ate two servings of that Christmas pudding the Professor's friend sent from Scotland."

"It was good," she frowned.

"Yeah...you're still wearing it on your face," Scott teased.

"Shut up," Rogue pouted as she wiped her face on her sleeve but found no evidence of christmas pudding upon it.

"Where's gumbo? I notice he ain' makin' the effort to help any," Logan noted.

"What can he do?"

"He could dry," shrugged Logan.

"Ah think him and the Professor are talkin' in the _good_ livin' room."

"Yeah...I could see Charles lookin' a little worried about some of the stuff the Cajun told us. I'm sure he'll be wantin' to dig a little deeper into that crazy mess of a mind."

Rogue pulled herself up onto the nearest counter and sat with her hands in her lap. "Ah'm not _too_ sure about this, but Remy kind of dropped a hint that maybe he'd like to be recruited."

Logan stopped what he was doing and paused, "what kind of _hint_ are you talkin' about?"

"He just...we were talkin'...you know...in general," Rogue began, she wanted to deliberately leave out the section where Remy dropped hints about hoping it would be _her_ who gave him reasons to stay. "About the food, actually...and Ah was kind of jokin', and said he could always show us his _culinary_ talents when he gets his sight back. He said we wouldn't see his ass for dust the moment he gets his sight back."

"That's not a hint, that's a blatant statement he wants to be out of here," Scott frowned.

"No, there's more..." Rogue hushed him. "After that he said that he basically didn't have much of a reason to stay and when I asked him what reasons he'd need, he mentioned maybe if he got recruited..."

Scott made a face, his mouth tight.

Logan turned around completely from the sink, he picked up a dishcloth and dried his hands upon it, his expression somewhat cloud.

"What are you thinkin'?" Rogue asked quietly.

He tilted his head and scratched a stubbly cheek with a knuckle, "Well. It's not for me to say _really,_ is it?"

"All of the _Brotherhood_ boys were offered a place on the team if they ever wanted to come try out workin' for our side," Rogue reminded, "how come no one ever asked the _Acolytes_?"

"They were never asked 'cause it's hard to say where their allegiance stands," Logan explained.

"But Magneto isn't _exactly_ our enemy any more...so that means the Acolytes aren't either," Rogue suggested.

"Gambit isn't an Acolyte either, Rogue. Not anymore. He's been going solo for a while, and like Logan said, it's hard to know where _his_ allegiance stands."

"What he said at dinner made me think," Rogue sighed, "he...he was always taken in by the wrong people, y'know? His daddy...then Magneto. If he _had_ been taken by someone on the _right_ side, maybe he wouldn't have turned out so bad..."

"I can't say the thought _didn't_ cross my mind," Logan responded with a grunt. "But this conversation is pretty much _moot_ at this point. We don't know when he's gonna get his sight back..."

Rogue leaned back against the cold tile wall, "Ah guess."

"Besides..." said Logan after a moment of reflection, "he was probably just _fishin'._"

"Fishin'?" Rogue blinked.

"Yeah," Scott chimed in. "Dropping hints about needing a reason to stay to see if _you_ would want him to stay...if you would give him reasons."

"That's crazy," her cheeks grew hot.

"Rogue, he likes you...probably more than likes," Scott shook his head at her in disbelief.

She sat straight and gripped the edge of the counter, "what the heck gave you _that_ idea?"

"Things he's said...the way he is around you," Scott shrugged. "I have a girlfriend, I'm not _totally_ oblivious to the things people do when they like someone, you know."

_Could have fooled me,_ Rogue thought with a frown. "Think whatever you want," she pushed herself off the counter, "Ah think he's just lookin' for somewhere he can call home where he's not gonna be taken advantage of is all."

Logan chuckled, "if you say so, Stripes."

Rogue pouted and turned away from them both.

"He's in a weird mood today," said Scott thoughtfully.

Rogue glanced over her shoulder at him strangely.

"Yeah, he is. He's...bein' pretty...candid."

A churning in her gut told her what was about to come.

"Yeah...he's actually being up front...telling us stuff he normally wouldn't," Scott admitted. "I mean...he's a dark horse and when he usually opens his mouth it's to come out with a crude remark...but according to you, Rogue...everything he said was honest."

"It was," Rogue swallowed a strange lump in her throat, "but...what's that got to do with anythin'?" she asked. _Please don't ask me, please don't ask me,_ she pleaded in her thoughts.

"You...could try to get the truth out of him again..." Scott suggested, "maybe he'll tell you this time."

"Scott, c'mon...it's _Christmas_...can't we give the guy just _one_ day of peace? He hasn't even _had _a Christmas before..." Rogue reminded.

"That's why you need to take advantage," Loga explained.

"Oh come on..." she sighed.

"Right now might be the only chance you _have_ of finding out once and for all what's really goin' on," Logan explained. "Tomorrow...you might not _be_ so lucky."

* * *

The formal living room was peaceful, thought Remy, as he sat upon an incredibly comfortable chesterfield leather couch; the leather was the softest he'd ever felt. There was a fire in the hearth giving off a blazing but welcoming heat that made him feel sleepy and every now and then an ember would crack and spit and he'd try to imagine the sparks that would dance for a mere second before they disappeared.

Perhaps his favourite sound of the room was the rich ticking of a clock that just by ear seemed to sound older than time itself; a thick and loud tick that almost seemed to lull him into a hypnotic trance.

"You like this room?" asked the Professor after a few more moments of comfortable silence.

Remy traced his fingers along the soft leather of the sofa, his fingers dipping into the deep holes to graze against the hard buttons. "It's hard t' say since I can't really see it."

"I can sense there's something about it you like...you're projecting a feeling of peace."

"I'm not _totally_ at peace," Remy grumbled.

"No...not totally," agreed the Professor. "Is it anything you would like to discuss?"

"Not really," Remy admitted, "I've said a lot today already."

"Forgive me for prying," began the Professor, "but I couldn't help feeling that during dinner there was...shall I say...a tension at the table."

"Oh?" Remy lightened his voice.

"Between you and Rogue."

"No change there then, eh?" he forced a smirk.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"What's there t' talk about? She's stubborn, end of story," Remy replied with a sigh.

"What happened?"

"She jus'...don't trust anythin'...feelin's and affection..." he shook his head, "guess I can't blame her for that...so many been out t' get her...t' use her for their gain...it no wonder she can't see past it."

"You have fooled her before," Professor Xavier reminded.

Remy winced at the thought, "I know. I'm sorry about it...I _dunno_ how t' fix all the mistakes I've made in the past – and if I asked I'm guessin' she wouldn't even tell me _how_."

"Do please keep in mind that chasing any romantic relationship with Rogue has to be done _carefully_. Rogue is...a special case, and if you _do_ hurt her...it could set her back a lot further and we have worked _so hard_ to get her where she is now..."

Remy nodded, "I know that...I understand it. I have no intentions of settin' her back."

"You must be sensitive and patient with Rogue. If you keep pushing, she'll move further away...do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," Remy nodded carefully.

"Now," said the Professor, with a sudden change of subject. "I've been discussing your _case_ with a specialist in Boston over a series of phone calls over the past few days. He's the first specialist I've happened upon who is _willing_ to treat mutants."

Remy straightened in his seat, his breath caught in his throat.

"There's a course of treatments that _may _partially restore your sight, and he's willing to meet with us for a consultation to see if you're eligible."

"When?" asked Remy, he swallowed the lump in his throat – it seemed to stick halfway there like a large lump of coal.

"On the twenty-ninth," said the Professor, "I know it's _soon_, but there was a cancellation. I will accompany you, of course."

"If I am eligible," Remy began, "what happens next?"

"You'll be booked in for the treatments in January."

"What are the treatments?"

"There will be some minor operations, laser surgery, and series of injections."

"In t' my _eyes?_" Remy asked in horror.

"I'm afraid so. But you won't feel it..."

Remy's stomach flipped.

"You and I will fly out on the evening of the twenty-eighth and meet with him the next morning. If all goes well, we'll be staying in Boston for the week."

"Okay."

"Now, I must also warn there _may_ be complications in _your_ case."

"Why?"

"Your unique eyes will make it difficult during his consultation and possibly surgery. It may be that you will _not_ be eligible for this reason...and I must advise you to _not_ get your hopes up."

"Oh."

"There's also a _risk_ involved if you _are_ eligible..."

The word _risk _seemed to scream in Remy's head like the sound of a siren.

The Professor continued after Remy couldn't find it in himself to ask what those risks might be. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know. "While you may regain some partial sight there is no absolute guarantee, and there may be irreparable damage that could prevent your sight from returning completely."

Remy felt sick. It was a double edged sword. If he didn't go for the treatment, he remained blind forever, and if he did, he may still remain blind forever. "Are y' askin' me t' make a _decision_ whether I want t' do this?"

"Of course it is your decision."

"But if I _don't_ do this, then I'm stuck here...blind...and a burden on y' all. And if I do it...I still _might_ be."

"I know it will be a tough decision to make – and in so little time."

Remy rubbed his head, "I need t' think this over."

"If you need more time, I _can_ reschedule, but you should know that my getting _this_ appointment for consultation alone was sheer luck and that getting another consultation appointment _and_ an open slot for this treatment could take months – perhaps as long as another year."

The sound of the fire and the ticking of the clock filled the room as Remy remained silent and thought about his choices. It was a lot to take in. In one hand, it was what he'd _wanted_, to get his sight back, but in the other hand, the risks involved were far too severe. "If I don' go for this treatment..." Remy began, his voice was thick, "what are my chances? Are there other doctors out there who maybe have better treatments? Is it better t' _wait_?"

"Waiting may or _may_ _not_ reveal a better alternative. It all depends on how ready you are to commit to your life as a blind person, Remy. Can you be patient for months? Years?"

Remy thought about this. He wasn't sure he _could_ live as a blind person much longer. The month or so he had lived in this mansion had dragged severely and then somehow flew by and he lost track of days, weeks, everything melted into each other and he found it hard to keep up with what was going on around him as he remained the same. In this condition he felt he _couldn't_ live his life.

"Rogue keeps tellin' me..." Remy began in a soft tone, "that people live their lives every day blind...that it never stops them from bein' who they're meant t' be..." he explained.

"She's right."

"But...it feels like...like I'm not _livin'. _Like I'm a shadow of life..."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Professor...bein' able t' see...it was part of who I _was_. I couldn' be who I was without bein' able t' see...it defined part of my life as a thief," he explained. "Bein' able t' see...t' look at people, t' connect t' them...it was a huge _part_ of what I did..."

Remy somehow sensed the Professor was sitting listening so intently that his expression was probably intense and stern; he could only vaguely remember the piercing eyes that were probably staring into space at that moment as he considered each and every word.

"What would _you_ do?" Remy asked quietly.

"What would I...?" the Professor seemed taken aback by the question.

"If...if this doc had said that he could give y' the power o' y' legs back...but told y' that...the damage that might possibly be done could prevent y' from ever walkin' again if there _were_ other possibilities...would y' still do it?"

The Professor gave something of a strange 'huh', as if he were impressed by the question; he had _not_ expected this. "I suppose...I would have to consider the options carefully and ask myself what I really wanted..." he responded after some moments of contemplation. "Perhaps I may be seduced into the idea of being able to walk before I die; I'm not a young man, Remy, and to gain the use of my legs, even partially, would change my life so much. It is so hard to say..."

Remy sighed, "what should I do, Professor? Should I take the _chance_?"

"It's not my place to tell you what to do – I cannot speak for you. You've asked me to find a way to help restore your sight, and this is what I've found in the month of time I've had to research. The choice is really up to you. If you wish it, I can cancel and give you more time and myself more time to research other avenues..."

Remy stood up, "I need t' think this through..." he brushed his hair out of his face. "It's a big decision."

"Of course. Take your time. You have until the morning of the twenty-eighth to make your decision."

"I will."

* * *

Rogue looked everywhere in the mansion for Remy LeBeau and for a few panicked moments, she had almost thought he'd vanished completely, that he'd finally escaped the confines of the institute. As she went from room to room looking for him, she tried to rehearse what she'd say, how she would ask him to be honest and tell her exactly why he had been in the chemical plant that day.

_Why were you there, who are you working for, and what the hell is the red glitter for._ Three easy questions.

She eventually did find Remy after almost a good half hour; he was standing outside on the front steps of the mansion with a rather _large_ coat wrapped around him that she could only imagine he'd found in the coat closet that had been left by Hank McCoy.

"Ah've been lookin' everywhere for you," she admitted as she stepped outside into the chilly evening air; it was snowing lightly, and the flakes swirled around in the wind, making patterns in the dark and dancing across the sky.

"Been here for a while," Remy shrugged; he turned towards her a little and almost _appeared_ to look at her.

She thought of the first question she wanted to ask him, and then noted his strange expression; so conflicted...so...lost. "Ah...wanted to-" she shook her head, distracted, "Remy, are you okay?"

"Jus' needed some air...time t' think."

"To think about what?" she asked, she moved over to join him where he stood, her sleeve brushed against the empty sleeve of Hank McCoy's coat.

He trembled a little in the cold, "the Professor has booked me t' see a specialist about my eyes."

Rogue turned to smile at him, "that's great!"

"No...it's not."

"But...it's what you _wanted_...you've been going on about wanting somethin' to be done..."

"I know but...There's risks..."

"Risks..." she repeated.

"I might come out of it more _damaged_ than I went in. If I go for _this_ treatment...and it goes wrong...there _are_ no other chances. I'd be blinded forever."

"Oh..." she mouthed.

"If that happens...my life may as well be over. No one gon' want _damaged goods._"

"You're not damaged goods, Remy," she folded her arms against the bitter cold.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Ah dunno..." she shrugged, "you have...a few surface flaws...that's all."

"I don' think these are the kinda _flaws_ that can be buffed out," Remy sighed.

She gazed at him beneath the dim porch light that highlighted his perfect profile, and admired the sharpness of his slim but exquisite nose and the way tones of sun-kissed blonde seemed to come through faintly in his brown hair. His expression was so sad and lost, his cheeks quivered and she wasn't sure it was with the cold or with tension.

"You're trembling..." she said softly.

"I'm _fine_, don' worry 'bout me," he responded quite tired, sounding almost bored with himself.

"You're still getting over _pneumonia, _do you want to get ill again?" she asked.

Remy gave a shrug and didn't respond vocally; his breathing was deep and slow and sounded painfully sad.

"Well...do you?" she tried again.

"I dunno if I even _care _anymore, chere."

Rogue chewed her lip and continued to stare at him; she could see the worry in the lines on his forehead, the tightness of his mouth and a strange ache overwhelmed her. _Ah can't bear to see him like this,_ she thought unhappily. With a trembling hand – something she told herself was attributed to the cold and not nerves – she reached out and touched his cheek to turn his head towards her. His mouth dropped a little at the gesture and he turned slowly to face her.

She placed her other hand upon the other cheek and cupped his face in both her gloved hands as she gazed up at him. "You're going to be fine," she said to him.

He grasped her forearms, his fingers were so long and her arms were so slim he could easily get them all the way around each arm and close his hands around; it was a tight grip but not uncomfortable. Rogue wondered momentarily if she had tried to pull away, would she be able to, would he find the strength to hold her there?

Or would she find the strength to pull away?

"Y' aren't wearin' a coat," he said.

"Ah wasn' intendin' on standin' here all night..." she confessed.

"Here..." he let go of her arms and extended Hank McCoy's rather large coat and moved closer to her the front flaps of the coat around her.

"Careful..." she tilted her head back a little as his chin almost bumped against her forehead.

"What the hell is this...?" he asked, he had found her long ponytail and was gripping it with one hand. "You wearin' extensions, now? Got t' say, never pictured y' for the fake hair wearin' kinda girl like the bimbos at the mall with their fake hair and their false eyelashes and their fakebake that makes them look like them things from Willy Wonka's factory..."

"Ah'm not. It's my real hair," she shoved his hand away from her hair.

"Y' hair was cut t' y' shoulders last month..."

"Yeah, it's the curse of usin' Wolverine's powers...hair grows quickly."

A strange expression caught his face and he looked as if he were about to ask something else.

"Don't you _dare_..."

"Sorry."

"My eyebrows grew, my leg hair...armpit hair..."

"Bikini zone?" he asked.

"Shut up."

"I guess y' razor saw a busy day that day."

"My fingernails and toenails grew real long too...which is why four pairs of my socks are now ruined."

Remy smirked just a little at this, "you gon' cut it off?"

"My hair?"

"Yeah."

"Y' should keep it."

"Hell no. Why would I do that?"

"I dunno...I jus'...I never seen y' with long hair...maybe if all goes well, I can..." he reached to the back of her head again and buried his fingers in the ponytail.

Rogue breathed in the smell of Remy's deodorant that was slightly mixed with the smell of mothballs that she assumed filled the pockets of Hank's coat. She pushed her hands against his chest to keep some room between them as she'd noticed with one arm he was trying to draw her closer although she was positive he was fully aware of the dangers of getting too close.

"What y' think I should do, Chere?"

"Ah _think_ you should let me go."

"No, not about _this_."

"About what then?" she asked distractedly.

"About the consultation...with the specialist."

"Oh..." she chewed her lip thoughtfully as she adjusted the collar of his polo shirt and buttoned it up to the top awkwardly; buttons were never easy wearing gloves. "It's...it's not for me to say."

"Jus' tell me what I'm supposed t' do here, chere. I'm so _confused_," he sighed.

"You'll be fine," she assured.

"If I go..." he began, "will y' come with me?" he asked.

"Where?" she blinked.

"To Boston...for the consultation..."

"Ah..." she began she hesitated, "Ah dunno, Remy."

"Please..." he begged of her, "chere, I _need_ you. I need y' there. If I _do_ go for this treatment, I'll be in a strange hospital...and strange hotel, I need someone who can _guide_ me..."

"The Professor-"

"The Professor isn't _you_...it's _you_ I want there...y' the one I need t' be with me, t' hold my hand...if this all goes wrong, y' the only one who gon' stop me from doin' somethin' stupid..."

"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling suddenly quite alarmed.

"I dunno what I mean..." he shook his head, "I just...I feel like I'm gonna lose my mind soon...I dunno how much more o' this I can take, Chere."

"You're gonna be _fine,_ Ah promise," she took his face in her hands again, she heard the sound of his growth brush against the suede of her gloves and for some reason the sound made her tingle all over, as if a flutter of butterflies had tickled their tiny legs and shifted the breeze against every hair on the back of her neck.

He placed his hands on hers, "promise me y' gon' go with me..."

"Okay," she nodded, cursing that gestures were the one thing she could not get out of the habit of doing in his presence. "Ah'll go with you..."

As she let go of his face, his hands remained on hers, and gripped them hard. She watched with strange fascination and shyness as he kissed each one. She broke through the spell and yanked her hands away awkwardly, "Ah...Ah have stuff to do," she stammered. She didn't give him a chance to object, she went inside quickly and leaned against the front door, feeling oddly breathless and noting that although it was warm inside, she was still shivering.

* * *

**END OF PART 11**

**Wow, it's odd uploading parts focusing on Christmas when it's April already! Time flies! Haha!**

**As per usual, thanks to all of you who have reviewed and left such kind words. You're truly the ones who keep me going and I always look forward to hearing from you all and hearing your thoughts Hope you've enjoyed this part and hopefully I'll be able to get part twelve up soon :D**


	12. Part 12

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 12**

**RUINED**

* * *

Rogue gazed out of the recreation room window at the drifting snow that fell gently over the grounds; the whole of the estate seemed illuminated letting her see the trees that were normally so far away that in the dark they'd have disappeared into the night.

It was a shame, she thought, that Remy couldn't see how beautiful this was and she wondered perhaps if he ever would again. What he'd told her – in his vaguest way – left her feeling chilled despite the warmth of the recreation room. The thought of him being left permanently blinded left her ill at ease; the possibility had never seemed so much a reality until now.

A noise at her back disrupted her thoughts and she turned to see Scott Summers in his pyjamas and ridiculous bunny slippers (a gag gift from Jean) searching beneath magazines on the coffee table.

"Lookin' for somethin'?" she asked.

"My phone...I put it down somewhere and now I can't remember where," he grumbled.

"Oh."

"Have you seen it?"

"No. Sorry."

"Did you find Remy?" he asked. Their last run into each other had been when Rogue had asked him if he had seen Remy anywhere after dinner had ended.

"Yeah," Rogue tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, "he was outside...freezin' his ass off."

Scott hovered, his expression grim like usual, "did...you ask him?"

Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek and played it innocent, "ask him what?"

"About...you know...what we talked about in the kitchen. About who he's working for."

Rogue sighed, "no."

"Why not?" Scott demanded impatiently. "You're missing an opportunity to-"

"He's scared, Scott. He's just found out that the treatment that might give him a chance to see again might also blind him to the point where he can have _no_ other procedures...no other chances of havin' it fixed."

Scott's face dropped.

"How _could_ Ah ask him to give me the truth when he's petrified of bein' blind for the rest of his life?" Rogue demanded. "You should have seen the look on his face...it was so...lost."

"The Professor said-"

"Ah know what the Professor said, Scott. He promised there would be a way to fix it, Ah know that. But...how could the Professor _know_ that?"

Scott sat down on the coffee table, "The Professor told him that he'd probably be able to find a way to help him _partially_ regain his sight. He never said anything about risks."

"Surgery always comes with risks," Rogue reminded, "Anything could go wrong. What happens if it does?" she felt her eyes misting with the thought.

"I'm sure he'll still be welcome to stay here."

She scoffed, "you don't even think he's welcome _now,_ Scott. And even if you _did,_ what's he meant to do with the rest of his life while he's welcome here? He's barely living life now...he doesn't know _how_ to. He's a trained thief and a fighter...he doesn't _know_ outside of that..."

"You can help him."

"Ah only know the basics, Scott...Ah don't know how to teach him Braille or how to be able to go out alone without a guide..." she struggled to not let the tears spill.

"There are schools for the blind."

"It would take _years _for him to learn enough to start his life again...and he's impatient and angry...he's not gonna want to go to a school for the blind..." she twisted her ponytail over one shoulder frantically.

"Then it'd be his problem..." Scott said quietly.

"How is he supposed to survive, Scott? Ah never _thought_ it would get this serious..."

"It might all just be worry over nothing...I don't know why you're getting so upset..." Scott admitted, "You claim you don't even like the guy."

Rogue sucked in a breath through her teeth.

"Or were you lying about that."

She looked away ashamedly.

"Oh come _on,_ Rogue! Please tell me you haven't _fallen_ for him..."

"No!" she shot back quickly and she thought perhaps it was a little too quickly and too defensively.

"Oh my god, you totally have...you've fallen for him..." Scott shook his head.

"No!" she repeated, "But Ah _feel_ for him...Ah _understand_ him...and Ah can't just pretend like Ah don't," she explained.

"What about the elephant in the room, Rogue?" Scott asked pointedly. "The one that's been bugging you for the last _month_ since he got here."

"Right now...the possibility of what might happen to him is bigger than that, Scott..." she retorted. "It's an even bigger elephant in the room. Hell, it's the fuckin' _whale_ in the room that's completely shadowin' the elephant! How can I ignore that?"

Scott's looked away, his mouth tight, his cheek quivering just a little; she wasn't sure if it was anger she saw in his face or not.

Rogue watched him closely; the boy she had once thought she loved now seemed so distant and so disconnected from her that it almost seemed he was a perfect stranger. The Scott Summers she had loved just a year ago would have never been so callous as to want her to her to interrogate someone after they'd just been told there was very little hope for the return of their sight.

"How can you just ignore it, Scott?" she asked carefully.

He stood up, he sighed "I just have to, Rogue."

"Why?"

"'Cause if I face it...then I have to also face _my_ elephant..."

"And that is?"

"That I've ruined his life."

* * *

Remy couldn't sleep; there were a thousand different things he could have thought about that night as he lay there in the bed, in the absolute dark of his blindness listening to the truly heinous tracks that Kurt Wagner had picked out for his new iPod shuffle. He could have thought of Rogue's lingering tender touch, or the thought of how her soft thick hair had felt in his fingers, or the smell of her slightly chocolatey breath as she'd stood mere inches away from him.

But all he could think about was the chance he would be blind for the rest of his life. The Professor's words kept replaying in his head again and again; the warnings about risks, about giving him a few days to think things over.

Part of Remy wanted to refuse the consultation, to just sit in his patience and wait out until perhaps something else should come along. Maybe in a years time new treatments would be discovered, or some new specialist would decide to treat the mutants that so many refused to.

Was waiting the better alternative?

_I can't sit here in the dark for the rest of my life not _livin'_ my life,_ he thought sadly. He chewed at his thumbnail and chided himself for doing so; since his blindness he had found himself doing this a great deal. _Haven't bit my nails in years,_ he thought as he twined his fingers together and placed his hands upon his chest. Biting his nails had been one habit he'd successfully kicked when he'd learned to expertly shuffle playing cards.

_Never even be able t' play cards again. There goes strip-poker right out the window,_ he mused.

The rest of his life, he realised, was going to be worthless if this treatment did not prove to be successful and in the event that it didn't, he was sure he would take to drastic measures. Life wasn't worth living to Remy LeBeau if it couldn't be lived to the full. He wasn't about to live the rest of it in this small measure of existence feeling his way around, finding no joy in anything, no beauty.

He tried to remember Rogue's pep-talks about people becoming blind every day and living full healthy fulfilled lives. How was he supposed to be like them? He wasn't sure he even had the willpower to _try_ to adapt. He was just _barely_ adapted to being able to wash and go to the bathroom himself. How would he cook for himself, shop for himself, do his own laundry?

_To be fair,_ he thought at himself, _I never even learned t' do laundry properly when I could see. _The thought amused him slightly, but it wore off and left him feeling slightly empty; he never _would_ learn. He wasn't sure Rogue would even continue to help him much longer, having admitted to already having taught him most of what she knew.

Something touched his arm and he jumped; the earphones fell out as he sat up with a gasp.

"Sorry!" Rogue's voice rang out in the darkness, "it's just me."

"Fuck," he put his hand on his thumping heart, "y' can't _do_ that t' a blind man."

"Sorry..." she said again; he detected something there and it wasn't particularly in her voice but something felt off. Was it her hesitation that gave him the impression something was wrong or was it something else?

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin's wrong," she quivered, her voice was suddenly so thick with unexpected emotion. He might have rolled his eyes at her attempt to hide her emotions had she been any other girl.

"Doesn' sound like nothin' is wrong. Sounds like y' gon' cry."

"I'm just..." she began. "Remy...can Ah tell you somethin'?"

"Sure..." he offered.

"Ah _don't_ think you should do this."

"Do what?"

"Go to see this Doctor..."

"I don't know if I even _will,_ chere. I have t' decide by the 28th if I'm gon' go," Remy admitted. "I haven't decided yet if I'm gon' do this or not."

"Don't go," Rogue pleaded.

"Why?"

It sounded to him like she was swallowing a very large lump in her throat. "'Cause Ah don't want to see you blinded for the rest of your life when waitin' might be the better thing to do..."

Rogue sat upon the edge of the bed, he felt it buckle slightly under her weight.

"If I go...there's a chance I get my vision back..." he sighed, "and I want t' see again so badly..."

"Ah know that...but what somethin' goes wrong?" she asked.

"You were the one who was sayin' everythin' was gonna be okay..." he pointed out.

"Ah said you'll be _fine,_ and you will..." she responded quietly, "you're a strong person, Remy. You'll get through whatever happens regardless..." she shifted.

"Then why y' so worried?"

"Ah...Ah don't know," she confessed. "Ah just...Ah am worried. It's too soon for this...there has to be another way...something with less risk. Ah think if you're patient..."

"If I'm patient, I'm gon' go stir crazy, chere."

She fell silent, her breathing had that slight brokenness about it that led him to believe she was shaking from the inside out. "But what if it fails..." she said.

"Then..." he trailed off. "It fails."

"What will you do?" she asked softly.

"I...don't know."

"That's what bothers me."

Her confession of the thought bothering her touched him in a way that he hadn't expected it to. He straightened up, "chere...the way things are goin' now...I'm not livin' life. I'm _existin' _and just barely. I have t' ask myself if I can go through another month or two of this...another _year_ even. I don't know if I _can_."

"But if this fails...you'll _have_ to."

He pursed his lips together. He wasn't sure he _would_. He was sure there were many alternatives if something went wrong.

"You...you wouldn't do somethin' _stupid,_ would you?" she asked. He had to wonder if she'd guessed or if there'd been a certain expression on his face that had told her what he'd thought.

He said nothing, he turned his head from her; the thought of her looking so intensely at him made his heart sink deep into his stomach and his lungs deflate like two popped balloons.

"Remy, it's a _sin_ to-"

"It's only a sin if y' believe in God," he remarked coolly. "And I didn' say I _would_," he added quickly, "But if you were in my position...y' surely not tellin' me it _wouldn't_ cross y' mind..."

"Remy, you can _still_ live a normal life. You could get married, get a job...have babies..."

"I don' _want_ a normal life, chere. I want the _adventure_. I wan' wake up in the mornin' and be able t' _not_ see what's comin', and not because I'm _blind_ but because life gon' be unpredictable and interestin'..." he let his arms rest upon his knees. "I wasn' _made_ for a normal life, chere. Neither were _you._ If you were in my position, y' would find it impossible t' live like I am. Knowin' how t' get by isn't enough...I need more."

"You have more."

"Like?"

"You could stay here...with us...and work in the war room and help us...the Professor could figure out a way that you could-"

"What? Sit and listen t' y' all...sit again frantic wonderin' if y' gon' make it out alive?"

Rogue had no answer to this and so she changed from this subject completely and moved onto a previous one. "Ah just think...that you're rushin' this...that you should...maybe wait."

"I could wait months for another consultation with this guy...maybe even a year..." he replied. "Spendin' my days lookin' forward t' dinner time 'cause it's the only thing that breaks up the day. Hours flyin' by, hours not flyin' by, forgettin' what colours look like, what people look like..." he shook his head, "it ain' the way t' live."

"But so many people _do_..."

"They're stronger than me, chere..." he assured, "those are people who already _want_ conventional lives...they aren't the people who want the kinda life I was brought up for..."

Rogue gave a frustrated groan, "please, Remy...don't do this..."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm _scared._"

He turned his head back towards where she was, he listened to her fast breathing, he imagined her heart thudding, her pulse racing, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering with tears. "Chere...don' y' think I'm scared too?" he demanded. "Scared that I'm gon' live the rest of my life like this? I need t' get out of here...gettin' my sight back may be the only way t' do it."

"But _why_...why do you need to get out of here? It's a good home isn't it? We're good people...you like us..."

"It ain' about that," he responded.

"Then..."

"I told y' I love y', and y' rejected me..."

She didn't seem to quite understand this; her lack of response frustrated him.

"I can't sit around here in the dark forever waitin' for y' t' figure out what it is y' want. Y' been through this, chere...I watched y', and I couldn't bear t' go through the waitin' and never knowin' if somethin' gon' happen or not. It'd hurt too goddamn much t' be this close and never get any closer...y'know?

"Oh."

"It'd hurt too much if I waited here, blind and lost and y' decided t' go with someone else...if Scott _did_ break up with Jean, if y' _did_ go with him..."

A dull laugh escaped her lips, "that's not gonna happen," she admitted. "You said it yourself...Scott is infatuated with Jean."

"And you're infatuated with him."

"Not anymore..."

He paused. "Y' sure 'bout that?"

"Yeah...Ah've...seen him through different eyes lately and...things have changed. Ah don't get those same feelin's when Ah look at him..."

"What do you feel now?" he queried hopefully.

"Confused."

"About?"

"You."

"Why?"

"'Cause Ah don't know how to handle this. Don't you think part of me _wants_ to be happy? Part of me thinks it'd be _wonderful if _someone loved me and a big part of me _wants _to know how it'd feel to have someone...but...the other part of me remembers how many times Ah've been hurt by people who tricked me into believin' they cared...part of me remembers how you fooled me before..."

He sighed.

"Part of me says Ah should give you a chance 'cause you just _might_ be the only chance Ah ever have of bein' with anyone..." she confessed to him; the words stung horribly.

_Honesty is a painful thing,_ he thought dully as he thought of her words. He picked at his now frayed and split thumbnail from too much fingernail biting. While she was in her honest mood, he supposed it was the right time to ask her the question that had been on his mind since the night before.

"How d' y' feel about me, chere?"

There was no answer, he wasn't sure he had really expected her to be able to answer and he chided himself from even asking now. Her silence perhaps hurt more than if she had said she felt nothing, as if the feelings weren't even worth speaking of.

She stood up slowly, the bed softly creaking as her weight raised from it.

"Don' leave me in silence without an answer, Chere..." he pleaded of her. "Pity? Disgust? Hate? What do you _feel_ when y' look at me?"

He heard her swallow again, she was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot judging by the odd creaking of the floorboards beneath the rug.

He tried again, "do y' _care_ for me at all?" he asked. It was the final question he would ask, and it was the one that would hurt him the most if the answer he received was the one he didn't want to hear.

"Ah..." he stammered.

"It's jus'..." he swallowed the lump that had grown in his own throat now, "it's jus'...I feel like maybe y' do..." he said, his voice small.

"Yes," she finally managed, her voice was just as small as his. "But...Ah don't know what it means yet..." she confessed to him, "Ah don't know in what way..."

His heart leapt in his chest, and thudded so hard it hurt. It was _something_...it was an almost spark of light in the darkness of everything in his current life. The problem was that sometimes sparks die out. "When y' figure it out..." he said, "y' know where t' find me...jus'...don't keep me waitin' too long."

He listened to her leaving the room and he sighed to himself as he threaded his fingers together and lay his head against them upon the pillow. She cared for him...there was a tiny piece of hope. It was the thought that would get him through this troubled night...and right now, that was all he needed.

* * *

End of Part 12

Thanks to everyone for their continued support by reviewing and adding me to favourites and story alerts. I'm still so shocked by how many people seem to like this story! (so many interesting theories in the last set of reviews! I do love to keep you all guessing!). Anyway I'm off for a rest (it's 4am! Haha!). Thanks again to all of you, you all seriously rock and give me the reason for writing.


	13. Part 13

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 13**

**RISK**

* * *

Remy knocked on the Professor's office door at ten am that next morning; he'd quickly gotten dressed after a brief hot shower and he hadn't even bothered to properly dry his hair and it was dripping onto the shoulders of his t-shirt.

It felt nice and so oddly comforting to be wearing his own t-shirt for the first time in such a long while. It had been one of the items of clothing Rogue had brought back from the investigation in his apartment, and it had been freshly laundered and put in his top drawer and he had found it and recognised the texture of the fabric and the familiar cigarette burn just above the hem that his finger had slipped through when he'd put it on.

He couldn't ignore the irony that the t-shirt felt more important now; it was as damaged as he was himself. The fabric was thin and worn, it felt old and he only vaguely remembered how the now creased and cracked iron on logo looked. Despite it's age, it's need of replacing, he couldn't help but feel the fondness grow for it, and thought perhaps it might be his new favourite above all other clothes.

The Professor responded a moment later at the door knock, sounding half distracted when he instructed Remy to enter the room. Remy entered to the sound of shuffling papers and the thump of what sounded like a book being shut firmly. "Ah, Remy. Good morning," he said and even Remy could detect the sound of the man having slept so badly that he was struggling to feign being cheerful at this time of the morning.

"Mornin'," Remy greeted back. "The patches on my eyes got damp when I showered...think I need t' get them changed."

"Oh," said the Professor, a momentary pause, "You know..." he said after a moment, "perhaps it is time they were removed for the time being."

"Really?" Remy asked as he walked over, distractedly he walked right into the sharp edge of the desk and hit himself in the crotch; every muscle in his body seemed to stiffen at the impact and he grunted in pain.

"Are you all right?" Professor Xavier asked concernedly.

"I am..." Remy coughed; he picked out the very high strain lingering in his voice. "Can't say my left nut agrees."

"Oh dear."

"I think possibly my fertility was just cut in half..." he felt for the chair he knew was always there and dropped into it, pressing a forearm into his lap trying to ease the pain.

"I was once hit in the crotch with a golf ball when I was your age...I understand the pain all too well..."

Remy tried to imagine this and the effect was almost quite comical. Still, he found it hard to imagine the Professor as a young man, all virile and tall and _upright_. He chuckled just a little at the realisation.

"Is...something funny?" asked Professor Xavier.

"Well...it's jus'..." Remy shrugged, "I can't picture y'...y'know...my age..."

The Professor chuckled too, "you think I was born old and bald?"

Remy didn't respond; he listened to the sound of a drawer being opened and shut once again and then the sound of the Professor's electric wheelchair followed.

"I _used_ to be athletic, energetic and had a full head of thick hair. Once."

As Remy sat pondering what colour of hair the Professor might have once had, he waited for the patches to be removed from his slightly itching eyes.

"When I take these dressings off, you must take care not to touch your eyes and cause further infection," explained the Professor, Remy heard the familiar snap of surgical gloves. He'd become all too accustomed to that sound as of late and every time he heard it, he still expected to be asked to turn his head and cough just like in the movies.

"There's still infection?" Remy asked.

"Only slight. You'll find your eyes will be fusing shut in the morning for the next week or so...but that will clear up..." the Professor gently pried the micropore tape and dressings away from Remy's flesh, "Ah yes...the healing is coming along nicely...the swelling and burns have almost completely subsided; just a little dry skin remains."

Remy instinctively reached up to touch his eyes and the Professor coughed quickly to remind him not to.

"Tip your head back, please..."

Remy did as he was told and tried to relax at the gentle touch of cold rubber gently pulling at his eyelids.

"This will probably sting a little..."

"Hmm?" asked Remy. Then the stinging became apparent with a wetness that seemed to trickle down the side of his face like a hot acid tear. "Ow! What the fuck!" Remy demanded in pain.

"Remy, please. It's just an drop to help lubricate the eye and clear away some of the pus."

Remy hated that word; he could almost imagine a thick yellowish gunk oozing out of his eyes like something from the worst zombie movie ever made. "What the fuck is this? Acid?" he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to will the burning to go away when all he really wanted to do was douse his eyes in ice cold water.

"I would appreciate if you not use language like that."

"Sorry," Remy grumbled, "but it burns."

"I did give you warning."

"Y' said _sting_, not _burn like lava!_"

The next drop hit the right eye and again, seething hot pain burned through his entire eye and trickled down his temple; he felt the Professor rolling his fingers across each eyelid to distribute the drops and ease the eyes open a little more.

"There you go."

"Hmm?"

"Your eyes are open now."

Remy wouldn't have known if he hadn't been informed. He attempted to blink but wasn't sure if he was doing so or not; all he _was_ aware of was that lingering burning sensation in each eye that didn't seem to be wearing off.

"I take it by your reaction...you still have no vision?"

"It's jus' dark," Remy lamented. "Not even a little bit o' light..."

He heard a click, the Professor pulled at the bottom of his left eyelid, then his right, "no light perception at all?"

"No."

"I'm shining a light in your eyes," the Professor explained.

"I wouldn't have known," Remy deeply sighed.

"Don't be discouraged."

"Professor...I've decided..." Remy began, he had to draw a deep breath to continue, "that I need t' go for that consultation."

A moment of silence, Remy sensed the Professor was troubled about this revelation. "Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

Was it what he wanted to do? Of course he wanted his sight back. There wasn't a day that went by he didn't miss being able to see. But did he want to take a risk like this?

"Remy...?" the Professor asked.

"Every day my life feels a lil' bit more hopeless. I'm not _functionin' _right. I'm not livin' life the way I need t' live it. This might be my only chance t' live again..."

"If you're absolutely sure..." the Professor said; Remy was slightly alarmed by how uncertain the man sounded about the cure he'd suggested himself.

"I'm absolutely sure."

"Then I'll make arrangements immediately."

"Rogue said she's gon' come with me. For moral support...and t' help me get around places I ain' used t'. I'm gon' need a guide who can help me adjust t' wherever we stay..."

"Of course," agreed the Professor. "I should have suggested this myself."

Remy listened as the Professor moved again. The sound of papers shuffling on a desk, some clicks of what might have been the mouse of a laptop or a computer, and then some key tapping. Remy had the distinct impression Professor Xavier didn't need to _Google_ anything. He knew what he was looking for.

"I must advise you, Remy, before we make this trip...do not get your hopes up too high. You still may not be eligible."

Those words still burned perhaps almost as intensely as the drops that were still leaving his eyes hot and itchy. "I got t' at least _try_."

"I understand."

* * *

Rogue couldn't focus; training in the mansion's basement sparring room with Logan was harder than usual today. His training regimes were always gruelling and there was very little room for error. During her time with the X-Men she had noted one of Logan's favourite tactics during training students was to become insulting enough to provoke an angry response, and more importantly, an angry determination to improve.

It usually worked.

Today, it just frustrated Rogue to the point where she wanted to take her leather gloves off and slap him upside the head with them.

"C'mon, Stripes!" he picked on, "you're slackin'!"

She huffed and swung into what had been intentionally a jackknife kick. However, somehow she lost concentration and she fell clumsily onto her side instead of landing correctly, her unpadded elbow slamming hard into the mats.

"You call that a kick?" Logan scoffed; he stood with his arms folded looking down at her and shaking his head in dismay.

"It's not an easy kick," she reminded as she dusted herself off.

"Try again."

She steadied herself and began again, this time managing at least to let her foot collide with this arm.

"So," said Logan as he raised an arm and caught her foot, sending her falling back into the mats. "Did you have that talk with Gumbo?"

Rogue gasped as she thudded against the mats. "No."

"Why not?"

"Ah couldn't."

"Because?"

"Because Ah wasn't about to interrogate someone who's stressed out enough."

"You're too soft on him."

"Ah'm not too soft," she mumbled. "Ah just think it's _unfair,_ that's all."

"Show me a gyro," he instructed.

She did as told, and although it came out reasonably well – in her opinion at least – she could see that Logan was definitely _not_ impressed.

"Your form is lousy, and your landing is careless which isn't what I'd expect from you," he grumpily commented, "land like that again and I guarantee you're gonna break that ankle like a dry twig."

"You're distracting me."

"That's the _point_, kid. In the field, you're gonna be distracted. You need to be focused. All it'd take is for an enemy to say something to distract you and you'd be helpless."

She shook her head at him, pursed her lips and bit her tongue to prevent herself from snapping at him.

"In the field you don't have _time_ for distraction. Do it again."

Again, Rogue tried the same move, and again, landed very clumsily; he was right about her ankle. It didn't snap but she felt a twinge as she landed slightly on the side of her foot which almost caused her to tumble over.

"See!" Logan spat, "You're not _focusing."_

"Ah'm tryin'!"

"C'mon, Rogue, you know these moves, I've showed you half a million times. You're light on your feet, you should be able to master this. I've _seen_ you do this before."

Rogue felt her cheeks grow hot with anger. It had only been in the last few months Logan had been determined to teach her some more complex martial arts techniques that although might not necessarily be useful in the field, proved to be an intense work out nonetheless.

"She's got a lot on her mind," came a voice by the open door and they both turned to see Remy standing there folded armed, his hair wet from a morning shower, his t-shirt – some horrible old looking faded grey thing with a cracked and distorted logo across the chest – was slightly damp around the shoulders.

_What is this? Gang up on Rogue day? _She pondered. "Like you could do better," she commented.

"Probably. Depends what it is," he replied; he pushed himself off the doorframe where he was leaning and he stepped in, sneakers sinking into the soft mats.

"Gyro crescent kick, gumbo. Y' think y' could ace that?" Logan mused.

Remy moved his head from side to side to work out a crick, Rogue watched the intense expression on the bottom of half of his face. "Stand back."

"Oh, c'mon," Rogue rolled her eyes, "you're just gonna get hurt."

Logan pushed his hand against Rogue's midriff and led her backwards to the wall, "No. Let him try," he suggested.

"He's gonna go throw himself into a wall," Rogue mumbled.

"Then _video_ it and send it into _America's Funniest Videos_," Logan uttered.

"Is my path clear?" Remy asked, he spun slowly, swiping an arm across the air to check.

"Clear as a runway," Logan answered.

Remy took a small run across the large empty room before he moved impressively and leapt with a high kick that just nearly hit the ceiling strip light. He landed precisely upon the mats without even a stumble. "That what y' talkin' 'bout?"

Logan frowned, "So...you were taught martial arts?" he asked; he didn't even bother to congratulate the guy on what Rogue deemed had to have been an absolutely perfect landing from that particular kick.

"Lil' bit o' this 'n' that," Remy shrugged.

"Jack of all trades, eh?" Logan asked, Rogue noted the expression of amusement he had on his rough face.

"Master of none," Remy responded.

"What are you doin' down here, anyway?" Logan queried; it was a fair question, Rogue supposed. The basement where the gym and the sparring room also housed the laundry room and a storage room. None of these rooms were particularly useful to a man who couldn't see.

"Come down lookin' for Rogue, actually."

Logan glanced between them both and Rogue felt terribly self-conscious as he raised an eyebrow at her. "I see. I'll just _leave_ then. Will I?"

"Wait-" Rogue began.

"No. It's fine, Stripes. You two discuss whatever it is you need to discuss. I'll be upstairs..." Logan remarked, he threw a pointed nod at Remy. The look said 'remember to ask...'.

Rogue watched as Logan left the room and disappeared down the hall and up the stairway to the ground floor of the mansion. She had felt self-conscious even before Logan had left but now she felt just downright awkward.

Remy idled, as if he wasn't sure how to begin the conversation. Rogue sighed and realised it would be her to start.

"So..." she began, "what's up?"

"I've made my decision."

"Oh?"

"I'm gon' go to the consultation."

With a sigh, she leaned into the wall and shook her head at him in dismay. She had hoped her talk with him during the night would have been enough to appeal to his senses and talk him out of taking such a large risk so early into his condition. "Remy..." she began, she tried to refrain from sounding angry with him.

"Don' try and talk me out of this. I already made my mind up," he warned, his voice firm and direct.

"Then why bother tellin' me if you _don't_ want me to talk you out of this?" she demanded.

"Y' promised y' would go with me."

She threw her head back in absolute disgust with herself and she realised this was an incredibly stupid move as the back of her head slammed back into the wall rather hard and she let out a gasp of pain.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothin'," she rubbed her head, rolling her eyes at herself.

"Y' sound mad."

"Ah _am_ mad," she retorted, rubbing her head. "Ah asked you to rethink this, Remy. You don't know _what_ could happen. If you just _wait_ a little longer..."

"I've waited, and I've waited..."

"A month, Remy. You've been with us a month. That's barely any time at all..." she trailed off, taking a moment to look hard at him and for the first time realising that he didn't even have the dressings on his eyes any more. His eyes were closed, of course, but how strange it seemed to see him without those dressings taped to his eyes.

"If y' could feel how it's felt for me..." he tried. "Y' would see that time has _snailed_ by. Sometimes the hours are like days and sometimes the days are like weeks. _This_ is a _miserable_ existence."

"But you _are_ existing!"

"Barely."

"And what will you _do, _Remy? What will you do if it _does_ work? You might have partial sight again...but will it be _enough_? Will you be able to go on stealin' and cheatin' the way you used to? Will you still be able to have all these _adventures_ you wanted?"

"I'll be able to _try_...which is more than I can do now," he retorted coldly. "I'm not like you, Rogue."

"And what the hell is _that _meant to mean?" she demanded of him; his odd grim expression reminded her so much of Scott Summers at that brief moment that it was eerily unsettling.

"What it means," he began, "is that I'm not gon' sit around and wait for everythin' t' fall in my lap. If somethin' needs a risk, I'm gon' take it."

The words stung. No, they more than stung. They _burned. _That accusation hurt more than it would have if someone had sliced into her gut and poured Draino right into the gaping wound. She tried to recover from the hurt, and she spat each word out in her retort. "That's what got you _into_ this stupid mess, Remy. You took risks!"

"Yeah, and I'm ready t' take another. I'll take as many risks as I can until I get the things _I want,_ the things _I deserve!" _he shot; his fists were clenched so tightly his normally tan knuckles were as white as her own skin.

She felt deflated by his attitude and still bothered by his words; he was too foolish and difficult to argue with. His stubbornness was eternal as it seemed was his stupidity. There was no way to reason with him any more, he was _beyond_ it.

"Y' know what pisses me off about this whole thing?" he asked with a sudden laugh that sound almost crazed; the laugh didn't even _sound_ like the normal laugh of Remy LeBeau and it sent strange tingles up her neck. Was this it? Had he _finally_ lost his marbles?

"No, but Ah'm sure you're gonna tell me."

"The risks I took...they weren't even for _me_. I'm here because of some stupid _selfless_ act that now I can't take back...I sacrificed myself!"

Gazing over at him she wanted to ask – no, she _needed_ to ask – what he meant, but before she could get the words out he continued to speak.

"All the selfish _shit _I ever done in my life...never any repercussions for any o' it. Never once did I have t' pay for _any_ of my sins..." he explained. "For once, I try t' do some good...and I end up bein' _punished. _Y' think _fate_ is tryin' t' tell me somethin'?"

Rogue wondered herself if she believed in fate. There'd been a time when the thought of fate had almost seemed romantic and magical. It didn't seem that way any more. "What would fate be tryin' to tell you?" she asked hesitantly.

"That some things can't be messed with."

Rogue drew in a deep breath and thought momentarily about his words. What had he tried to change? What had he sacrificed himself for? Before she could get the question out, he began to speak.

"Now...on the twenty-ninth, I'm goin' t' with the Professor."

She wanted to object but he stopped her, he spoke quickly before she had the chance.

"And y' gonna be there too," he turned back to the door. "So pack a suitcase."

* * *

**End of Part 13**

* * *

Woo! Can't believe it's at part 13 already! Feels like only yesterday I uploaded part 1! Thanks to everyone for their continual support in reviewing, adding me to favourites and adding this to story alerts, it feels nice to know someone wants to read this! btw, I promise the red glitter hasn't been forgotten (I'm still being asked about it alot) and it will be revealed eventually what it's for. :) I get alot of questions and it's hard to find/remember them all atm (it''s 5.20am and I'm soooooooo sleepy!) but I'll try to answer a few of the ones that stood out...

To **raven34link**: In regards to whether Rogue could absorb Remy's "blindness", I think although Rogue would be able to absorb memories of Remy's blindness, she wouldn't become blind herself as she tends to only absorb abilities, thoughts, emotions, and memories (I still think she'd probably still prefer a brief period of Remy's blindness over Logan's extreme hair growth though! There are only so many razors at Xavier's!)

To **Sparklesinthesun**: rated M for language and references at the moment, not sure if I'm going to go further with that yet, I'm still in the middle of writing part 16. ;) As for Remy's ability to fight blind, in _this_ particular story it's not something he was actually trained on. I considered it (knowing it was that way in the comics), but it'd just be _too_ convenient for the story if regardless of his sight loss he'd somehow trained blind and was wonderful at it. I try not to write stories where the characters end up Mary-Sue and Gary-Stu (hopefully I succeed!) and have no flaws, are absolutely perfect at everything and never have any problems...lol.


	14. Part 14

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 14**

**HONOUR**

* * *

Rogue dropped herself into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed her head trying to force away the immediate headache that had begun when she'd banged the back of her head against the brick wall in the sparring room.

_He's bein' stupid,_ she decided as she yanked her gloves off to free her cold yet sweaty palms. _If he does this and it all goes wrong, he's gonna spend the rest of his life complainin' about it, or the rest of his life feelin' sorry for himself._

She dropped her eyes to the kitchen table, and absently scraped the index fingernail of her left hand across the soft smooth wood, leaving a long trail in the wake of it to join all the other dents and dots and scratches that marred the top from years of breakfasts at this very table.

All Remy's talk of fate and 'some things can't be messed with' confused her. To be honest, she was sure _he_ was the one who was confused. It seemed as if he wasn't sure what he was talking about any more, and was blaming things left right and centre as if it would actually make him feel better.

But nothing seemed to be making him feel better. Day by day, Remy LeBeau _was_ becoming more a shadow of himself than the day before, he hadn't been exaggerating that part. The boy she knew now didn't resemble the boy she'd known months before, the boy who'd had a smirk and a remark for everything.

_Stop feeling sorry for him,_ she tried to tell herself. _He still got himself into this stupid mess_.

Conflicting feelings bit at her like an angry viper. She _wanted_ to feel sorry for him, truly she did. But showing she felt sorry for him would show more weakness than she already had the night before. _That_ weakness hadn't worked. Weakness didn't change anything for him, and it didn't give him any cause to change his feelings about this choice he'd made. Embarrassment heated her cheeks as she remembered going to his room trying to contain tears realising that Remy was about to make a terrible mistake.

She wouldn't let herself cry in front of him again; even if he _couldn't_ see it.

His _command_ that she pack her suitcase also left her cheeks burning, but with anger, not embarrassment. Who was he to be spilling out orders in such a way? He wasn't her _superior _and he definitely wasn't her _boyfriend_. What right did he have to dictate to her what she would be doing and where she would go?

She slammed her fist angrily on the table just as Logan had stepped into the kitchen, he'd changed into a freshly ironed plaid shirt and his best distressed jeans...that could only mean he was going out somewhere.

"Oh jeez," said Logan, reaching to pick up the keys for his Jeep that were hanging up on the key hanger on the wall by the back door. "What now?"

"Nothin'," she grumbled, she put both hands upon her lap, her cheeks fuming red with embarrassment more than hostility.

"Right," Logan raised a bushy eyebrow at her, "I'm drivin' Scott to the airport; he's takin' a flight out to Hawaii. Wanna come along for the ride?"

"No thank you," Rogue replied. She couldn't believe she had forgotten that Scott received plane tickets for Christmas from the Professor – one to Hawaii, and then a flight back on the twenty-ninth so Scott could spend New Year with Jean. _Great,_ she thought miserably. _That means it'll be me and Remy alone until everyone returns on the fifth._

"What's with the face?" Logan asked, he spun the keyring around one finger.

"What are you talkin' about?" she asked.

"Your face. You look like someone just pissed in your cereal," Logan remarked, he scratched his stubbly cheek absently.

"Oh."

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," she got up and made her way to the fridge to find something to drink; at least with everyone away on Christmas vacation there were plenty of good sodas left to choose from. By the looks of it, it had just been restocked that morning. She pulled a can of Diet Cherry Coke from the bottom shelf and popped it open.

"Yeah, it sounds like nothin' is wrong," Logan pushed the fridge shut for her and he leaned against it, "so what'd he say this time?"

Rogue stared down into the open can before taking a drink.

"'Cause I'm assumin' he's said something. You only get in _those_ moods when he's said something."

She kept drinking from the can hoping that if she didn't answer he'd just leave. Apparently, he had no intentions of leaving until he knew what was wrong.

"Well?"

"He's gonna go to this stupid consultation thing on the twenty-ninth," she finally replied.

"Charles told me," Logan explained. "Consultation to see an eye specialist who might be able to give him partial sight back."

There was a thick silence between them, Logan didn't seem to understand what her problem was so she pushed the subject. "Oh, c'mon," she gasped. "You don't think it's a bad idea?"

"I don't know what to think, Stripes," Logan confessed, "it's a consultation, there's no _guarantee_ he can get treated. This is just a look-see to see if there _is_ anything that can be done. There's no guarantee he'll get treated immediately...or that he'll _decide_ to get treated immediately if the consultation is good..."

"But if he _does_ get treated, he could lose his sight permanently. Irreversible damage...no chances of _any_ other treatments from anywhere else."

"If he does then he'll deal – it's his decision."

"Ah know that, but..."

"But?"

"Don't you think he's jumping the gun?"

"Maybe. It's only been a month since he lost his sight, but bein' as I've _also_ experienced temporary sight loss, a month can feel like a hell of a long time. And even though I _knew_ my sight would come back with my regenerative powers...I still would have done _anything_ to get it back..."

"So you agree with _him,_ then. That he should just run blindly in a direction that might not be _best_?"

"I'm not _agreeing_ with anyone," Logan defended.

"It's a mistake...the Professor should have _never_ told him about this Doctor guy..." Rogue uttered.

"Why?"

"Because Remy isn't in his right _mind_ right now. He makes all these weird comments...about what he'd feel if he _did_ lose his sight for good and...it freaks me out. If this all goes wrong..." she trailed off uneasily.

Logan paused to consider these words, "You think he'd take the easy way out?"

"Maybe..." she glanced down to the kitchen floor; although it had been cleaned many times there was still the traces of Remy LeBeau's blood staining those tiles. No matter how many times those tiles were bleached, she'd still see those stains, she'd still remember all the blood, and she'd still feel that explosion of panic pushing at her chest. "Sometimes..." she began, then hesitated.

"Sometimes?"

"Sometimes Ah think maybe...the night he got hurt in here..." she trailed off, her eyes following the memory of the smears and splodges of dark red upon the floor.

"You think what...?"

"Ah..." she tried, then she shook her head, "no, it doesn't matter."

"You think he did that deliberately?" it was Logan's turn to push the subject now. She wished he hadn't; she wished she hadn't even brought it up in the first place but her mind had been so full of thoughts and feelings she hadn't been able to contain her frustration or her wonder.

"Ah don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes he comes off as the kind of guy who _loves_ his life, but this...blindness thing gets him _so_ down...and he gets _so _crazy and loses all hope..." she explained, "what if he _did_?"

"He never gave you any indication that it was deliberate, did he?" Logan pushed.

"No."

"Not one little _hint_ that'd make you think he did?"

"He just calls it an _accident_."

"So you think if this all goes wrong, he's gonna commit suicide based on an _accident_ that happened on his first night here in an unfamiliar kitchen?"

The _thought_ of it had been too delicate for words, and Logan's bluntness came as such a shock that he might as well have dropped the f-bomb, or worse perhaps, the c-bomb. Standing over a place where Remy LeBeau had almost bled to death was bad enough but to do it and be talking so _casually _about suicide seemed so _wrong_.

"I've seen that scar, kid, and I'm tellin' you, that's not suicide. That's an accident. The cut is crescent shaped, he didn't slice it, he put his hand down onto it accidentally."

Rogue wasn't so sure. The thought had been fleeting in and out of her mind for weeks but she'd tried to push it aside with so many other worries to deal. She'd tried to tell herself it was impossible, but lately the things Remy had said were beginning to change her mind about the impossibility of that 'accident'.

"What if it goes wrong. What if he has another _accident_, though?" she fretted.

"Why would you think he even _would_?"

"It's like Ah said...the things he says..."

"Like?"

"Last night..." she faltered. "Ah talked to him about it and...he said some weird stuff...y'know? Kinda...casual...about how it's not a sin to kill yourself if you _don't_ believe in God?" she chewed her lip.

"Why would he say that?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Ah...guess 'cause Ah brought it up."

"Putting ideas into his head?"

"No...just...tryin' to get him to rethink this..."

"Sounds like you did a _bang up job,_" Logan snorted. "Look, if it goes wrong, he'll deal with it, we'll throw him in counselling _immediately _after, we'll get him into a school for the blind, hell, we might even possibly be able to teach him how to survive in _our_ world without his sight. We're _not_ gonna let him do somethin' stupid."

"How are we _all_ going to do that, Logan? We can't even get along with the guy without wanting to scream at him!" Rogue pointed out.

"We'll learn. He has to adapt, we'll adapt too. Besides, he kind of grows on you...like a mole."

"Oh come on," Rogue rolled her eyes, "are you _admitting_ you actually _like_ him?"

"I'm not saying I _like_ him," Logan retorted. "Every time I saw him he used to irritate me so much all I wanted to do was kick him up the ass so hard and so far he'd think Doc Martens started makin' hats. "

Rogue smirked faintly, although it was an empty smirk all the same. Smiling right now felt very much like trying to fill a coffee mug with air.

"It's not quite that bad now," Logan confessed, "I wouldn't count him amongst my _friends,_ but I can just about tolerate him."

"He told me to _pack_ my bags," Rogue finally admitted sheepishly.

"He asked you to go with him?" Logan asked, he tossed the keys from one hand to the other absently. "When the hell was all this arranged?"

"When he found out about the appointment."

"And you're goin'?"

"God no. But he _thinks_ Ah'm goin'."

"Why would he think that?" Logan shrugged as he moved over to the back door.

Rogue sighed and gazed to the floor once again, a particularly noticeable blood stain was lingering by her left shoe and she took a step back from it slightly.

"Rogue...?" Logan stopped, his voice suspicious.

"Ah...may have promised him Ah would go."

"You _promised_ him?"

"Ah didn't _think_ he was actually gonna go! Ah figured he'd know what the risk was and decide against it because takin' such a huge risk is idiotic."

Logan rolled his eyes, "You _knew_ he'd take the _risk_. There was no question of it!"

"Ah tried to change his mind. Now Ah'm gonna have to think of a way to tell him I'm not goin'."

"You can't _do _that to him," Logan announced.

"Huh?" she blinked.

"You can't _not_ go. If you told him you'll go, you're goin'."

"Wait...you're taking his side now?" Rogue gaped at him. "God, one minute you can't stand his guts, the next you think he's fine, the next you think he's still shifty and you're commandin' me to go extract information out of him and now you're takin' his side over _mine_?"

Logan's expression became stern, "I'm not _siding _with him, Rogue."

"Yes you _are_!"

"No."

"Then what _are _you doin', Logan?"

"I'm reminding you about _honour, _Rogue. I taught you better than this. If you make a promise to someone, you keep it. You don't go back on it because it suits you and you _don't_ make empty promises because you expect different outcomes."

"Oh come on!" Rogue rolled her eyes, "this isn't what we covered in the _honour_ lectures and fine you know it. Ah think you just want me to go so Ah can try to get him to tell me about why he was in the chemical plant that day."

"No," Logan replied seriously, he seemed offended at the suggestion.

"Right."

"You can stand there, and argue 'til you're blue in the face. It won't make a difference. There's no choice. You said to him you'd go, you promised it. End of discussion."

Rogue shook her head in disbelief and turned away from Logan, placing both her hands on the counter and leaning over it, breathing deep to try and calm herself.

"You're his friend," Logan pointed out to her, his voice stern, his eyes steely and cold beneath his thick brows. Apparently 'end of discussion' wasn't quite enough.

"Ah can be his friend and _not_ go."

"No...you can't. A friend wouldn't do that."

_Like he's the best person to be givin' lectures on friendship,_ Rogue thought bitterly.

"You stand here goin' on about how _worried_ you are about him...about how afraid you are he might do something stupid, and then you want to leave him in the lurch to go face something like that _alone_?" Logan asked. "Do you really want to _drive_ him to do something stupid?"

"He won't be alone...he has the Professor – who, in case you forgot, _is_ a doctor!"

"The Professor isn't _you_. If he _asked_ you to go it's 'cause he needs you."

Rogue sighed. She'd really hoped for more support from Logan but it seemed like that idea had flown out of the window like a flock of angry birds.

"If you'd done that to me..." Logan shook his head, "I'd be really disappointed, Rogue. If I'd _needed_ your support...and you wanted to abandon me...do you know how much that'd _hurt?"_

She supposed she'd be hurt if someone had done it to her too. "Ah just...Ah don't want to see him do this and end up regretting it..." she began. "Ah don't know if Ah can be there and have to go through that all with him."

"Too bad. You'll just have to deal with it and give him a shoulder to lean on if it _does_ go wrong. Give him someone who can convince him his life _isn't_ over."

"Ah can't even do that now. God, you're puttin' all this responsibility on me! Ah'm the one who has to worry about him and has to teach him how to survive, and Ah'm the one who has to go to this stupid consultation with him and tell him things are gonna be fine when they're probably not!"

"You don't know that they're not."

"Ah don't know that they _are_ either..." she grumbled.

"Neither does he."

Rogue pursed her lips tightly together. How could she fight that argument? Logan was hard enough to argue with at the best of times, but it was even harder to argue with him when she knew he was right.

"Think how _that_ feels, Rogue. If _you're_ worrying about this so much, can you even get how much _he_ must be worrying about it?"

Rogue dropped her head, her cheeks burning with shame and her mind empty of responses.

"He's got _balls_ for wanting to take this chance...and you're bustin' them for it. Whatever your problem is, deal with it and put on a brave voice and be there for him. If it goes wrong, kid, it goes wrong. And if it comes to that, let him do what he needs to, scream, shout, cry on your shoulder..." Logan placed his hand on Rogue's shoulder and gave it a hard reassuring squeeze. "And when he's done, if you need the same...you know where to find me."

Rogue watched Logan leave through the back door to reach where he'd parked his Jeep. She listened to the sound of the engine and the wheels on the gravel outside. With a sigh she turned to leave the kitchen, and found herself face to face with Remy LeBeau.

Flustered, she almost dropped her half-full can of soda, and caught it just in time only managing to splatter just a little of it on her black shirt. "Remy..."

"Rogue," he said, his voice very monotone.

His expression was dark, his jaw set. She understood at once he had been outside in the hallway. Had he heard anything or was this merely incidental that he was standing there now looking rather bothered by something? Panic overwhelmed her at once. "Ah was just...talkin' to Logan..." she stammered.

"Yep." he placed an arm on the door frame and leaned there, rubbing the back of his neck as if a massive tension had build there; his lips pursed, his face so incredibly tight so that the hard angles of his cheeks and jaw stood out superbly. A sculptor could have chiselled him there like that, could have put him on a plinth and displayed him in a museum to show the world how beautiful a man should be.

"Oh..." she chewed her lip. "H-how much did you hear?"

"Enough," he responded coolly.

_Fuck, he heard everything,_ she put a hand to her head and felt disgrace and shame overwhelm her once again. "Ah-" she tried to begin, but she wasn't sure where to. How did she plan to fix this? Was it fixable? She was almost convinced that speaking further might cause her to choke on the foot that was so far in her mouth she'd stop breathing.

"Y' don' have t' go."

She stared at him, trying to read his expression; he seemed suddenly so robotic. She took a sip from the soda can to wet her throat which suddenly felt so dry. "Ah don't?" she finally managed.

"I don' wan' make y' do anythin' y' don' wan' do."

"Remy..." she tried.

"No," he shook his head, "it's _fine,_ Rogue. I get it. Totally get it."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ she thought angrily at herself. "C'mon, Remy, don't be like that..."

"No, it's fine," he threw his hand up idly. "Y' got y' own back. Y' fooled me int' thinkin' y' actually might have _cared_ for me."

Her mouth trembled. _Ah do care! _She tried to will herself to say it. _Ah do care! Say it, Rogue! Say it before it's too late!_

_"_Y' even went that extra mile with the crocodile tears and snifflin'. Y' a great lil' actress, Rogue. Incredible performance. Well done. Congratulations..." he shook his head at her. "Hope it feels good."

She wanted to scream at him. No...this wasn't a triumph! It hadn't been an intent to fool him! Why couldn't she find the strength to speak up? Why couldn't she fight him now when she'd had so much practice and had so much experience at it?

"Guess it's no more than I deserve. You win. Maybe I should go phone up the people who hand out them _Oscars_ and get y' name engraved on one so you can have it on display to remind you of how y' got one over on me, huh? Thanks. Thanks a million."

She watched him leaving the kitchen doorway and she wanted so badly to chase him but weight of her legs seemed to have glued her to the spot and her voice was so lost she couldn't find the words to speak. Even if she _could_ speak...what would she say to him? How could she possibly apologise for what had just occurred?

_Fuck. What have Ah just done?_

* * *

**END OF PART 14**

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Thanks to everyone for your continual reviews and subscribing to the story! Ah! you make this such fun to write!


	15. Part 15

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 15**

**DARK CIRCLES**

* * *

Remy felt betrayed. He'd never felt so betrayed in his whole life; not when family had back-stabbed him, not when Jean-Luc had conned him into taking on various poorly executed grifts to make some extra cash then taken the money from him, not even when clients had disappeared without trace after only having paid half their fee.

Never had anything caused him to feel such the sting of betrayal as _this_. He'd certainly been _hurt _in his life, yes. He was pretty sure nothing might have hurt so much as telling Rogue he loved her and not even hearing it back – not that he expected he really should have.

This definitely had to top _that_ hurt. This was the slice of lemon in an acid cocktail that had gone down rather badly.

Rogue's admittance of feelings the night before had given him such hope. There'd been a glimmer there that for a moment, everything might have still been worth it, that everything had _not_ been vain. For a moment, even losing his sight might have felt like the price for one thing in his life to have somehow miraculously turned out right. That tiny light at the end of the tunnel had almost been a prize.

_This is your own damn fault, should have left things as they were, should have left Bayville months ago...this would have never happened. _

Standing out in the hallway listening to Rogue and Logan argue about her _not_ going to Boston had surprised him; he hadn't expected her to go back on her word so quickly, and despite his harshness at ordering her to pack her bag, he really hadn't expected her to retaliate and refuse to go point blank.

Her reasons for not wanting to go – not thinking she would be able to handle going through this all with him – were almost as surprising as Logan's suddenly taking his side. He would have never imagined Logan being the one to stick up for him in an argument – especially not with Rogue. If anything, he'd have expected _Logan_ to be the one ordering her _not_ to go.

The light at the end of the tunnel had suddenly been snuffed out. A candle light flickering that someone had just puffed a breath upon and made vanish into the blackness of his life, where everything else still lay.

_Should have known this was coming,_ he thought as he felt his way around the house. In his frustration, he'd lost his way and had to try and remember where he was; he hit a dead end twice and realised he'd headed towards the cleaning supply closet at the end of the west hallway (only after feeling around inside and finding a mop). _Y' had t' push, didn't y'? _he seethed. _Should never have stayed here, never tried t' change things._

He wished for a cigarette. In fact, he wished for a whole pack and felt utterly dismayed that while he lived here he probably never would have any. Would he ever smoke again? He'd been suffering cravings for a smoke for weeks but now it had never become so strong and never had he needed one so badly.

_Must be smokes in this place,_ he thought dully. _House full of teens...surely someone is sneakin' in ciggies._

Unfortunately, as much as he wished for it, he doubted it were so. Logan had a keep sense of smell and had probably weeded out all the contraband in the house. No booze, no cigarettes, no drugs, nothing to take the edge off of anything. Pity. Right about now he could have done with perhaps all three in succession. It would have done the job.

"Remy, where are you going?"

He hadn't heard the Professor's electric chair in his haze of thoughts, and the sudden question startled him into walking right into a door and banging his nose against the hard wood.

"Fuck!"

"Remy, please," requested the Professor polite.

"Sorry..." Remy rubbed his now sore nose. "I don't know, I don't know where I was going."

"You just walked into the door leading to the kitchen's water pipes..." the Professor admitted, "and that probably holds no interest for you."

"I guess not," Remy sighed. _Not unless I wanna drown myself._

"What's wrong?" the Professor queried.

Remy turned and felt his foot hit something; possibly the wheel of the older man's chair. He reached out and found the back and held onto it. "Jus' distracted."

"About the consultation?"

"What else?" Remy asked dully; the Professor began moving, he held onto the chair, following it. "Y' wouldn' happen t' be harbourin' cigarettes or anythin' in this place, non?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry. I don't smoke," said the Professor. "And neither should you. It's bad for your health."

"Spare me the lecture," Remy grumbled. "I'm a grown man, I can make up my mind about what I wan' do with my health."

"All the same, you won't find anything to smoke here."

"Damn."

"Would you like to talk about your concerns about the consultation? Or anything else for that matter?"

Remy considered this. He considered bringing up the subject of Rogue and what he'd just heard in the kitchen, but he supposed it would be pointless. It wouldn't change anything, and it'd just make himself far too vulnerable, and he was already too vulnerable already as in mere days he would be leaving to see a doctor about the possibility of gaining his sight back. Besides, he didn't want the Professor meddling in his personal business and what had happened with Rogue in the kitchen _had_ felt quite personal enough.

"I'm fine," he lied. He was normally a good liar, but it sounded so pathetic, he could have never passed it for anything but a very poor fib at best.

"If you change your mind..."

"Look, even if I _did_ have concerns," Remy began, "It's not like anythin' y' gon' say can change any of it."

"I wouldn't say that," Professsor Xavier tried.

Remy snorted, "Y' already know the questions I'd ask, I already know the answers y' would give. It'd be coverin' ground we already covered this mornin' and I'm tired of that. Sick of livin' in dark circles. I jus' wanna move on and get on with my life now, that's all."

"Of course," said the Professor, his voice soft. "But as I said, do not get your hopes up too much. There may be nothing that can be done at this stage."

"Then what? What do I do then?" Remy asked suddenly, he couldn't hide the edge of hostility that was sharp on his tongue.

"We keep looking for other alternatives. I'll do all I can to find solutions, Remy. I made a promise I would help you and I will."

Remy scoffed. "Yeah, Promise."

"Excuse me?" asked the Professor. He stopped the chair abruptly and Remy felt his stomach hit upon the back.

"A promise...jus' that thing y' tell Remy LeBeau t' get him off y' back, t' make him think that things are gon' be alright when realistically they jus' won't be. Jus' that big ol' white lie that y' spout out like so much horseshit in the hopes that it'll get me t' behave until I can be outta y' hands once and for all. Empty words t' buy y' time, t' get me t' shut the fuck up."

"Remy...what has gotten _into_ you?" demanded the Professor. Remy heard the chair turning and could feel the confused gaze upon him.

"What d' y' _think_ has gotten int' me, _Prof?_ D' y' think it could be the four weeks of havin' _no_ fuckin' sight at all? Maybe it's the frustration wit' not bein' even able t' find any _enjoyment_ in life anymore, or maybe it's jus' 'cause I can't trust _any_ of the bullshit y' all keep tellin' me!" Remy spat. "Promises, promises, _always_ fuckin' promises. Maybe y' jus' all hopin' y' mind games gon' fuck up what's left o' my sanity and then I'll jus' not _care_ any more, and sit up in that room in the dark never carin' about livin' again!"

Remy's breath was heavy, each word poured thick and heavy like cement, and splattered everywhere, seemed to stain the atmosphere and linger at his feet leaving him frozen to the spot.

"Are you quite finished?" the Professor finally asked, his voice was quiet and calm. Didn't anything ever faze this man? The thought that he was still so calm only angered Remy more.

Remy hovered, "sure, why not..." he would have rolled his eyes if they had not been closed and still slightly burning from the eyedrops the Professor had administered.

"I understand your outburst," admitted the Professor, serenely. "However, I won't tolerate the language."

Remy leaned into the nearest wall and he slid down it, bringing his knees up to his chest and holding them there tightly.

"Perhaps we should postpone this appointment, Remy."

"No," he shook his head, "get this over with. If I'm gon' be blind the rest of my life I'd sooner know now rather than later. Whatever that consultation decides, I'm goin' for the treatment whether the outcome is good or not."

He heard the chair approaching nearer, "after what I've seen happen here...I have my doubts you're ready to deal with this."

"I'm ready as I'll ever be."

"No...you're not."

"I'm _done,_" Remy retorted. "Get it over with. Take me t' Boston. If it goes well, I'm gone. If it don't y' can jus' send me t' The Big Easy."

"I thought-" the Professor began uneasily.

"My so-called father won't care. I'll find somewhere else t' go."

"And then?"

"Don't know, don't care," Remy uttered. The bleakest thought hit him that perhaps he'd throw himself to the alligators...if he could find the direction of the nearest swamp. Maybe he could just walk along the streets with his mutant eyes unhidden and hope that a gang would get a hold of him and kick him to death for being what he was.

"Your thoughts are very loud," said the Professor.

"Thought y' couldn't read my thoughts."

"You're _projecting_ them very loudly...I'm only hearing _pieces_ of it, but...it's scaring me."

"Y' think _you're_ scared?"

"Remy, what happened?"

"Nothin'."

"No, I'm not accepting that answer. What _changed_ your attitude? You were absolutely fine just an hour ago and now you're...so dark...like someone turned a light off inside you."

"I'm at the end o' my tether, okay?" Remy rubbed at the corner of his eye, he felt something slightly sticky there and realised it was weeping. "I want out."

"Remy."

"I want _out_. I want _out_ o' here. Out o' this fuckin' shitty _hellhole_ of a fuckin' _school_ for fuckin' two-faced liars!" he yelled. "I want out."

Remy got a strange sense that all of a sudden the Professor wasn't feeling so calm and composed as he normally let on. In fact, Remy felt an odd sense of resentment after his statement. Perhaps he'd gone too far, but it felt warranted. He supposed he couldn't expect someone like the Professor to understand that.

"Fine."

"Rogue's not comin', by the way," Remy pulled himself up from the floor, tried to remember where he was exactly. Near the kitchen? His fingers trailed the wall finding the familiar dents that told him his exact location. "I guess it's jus' the two of us."

* * *

Rogue didn't go down to see what was there to make for dinner; it had struck her that since she, the Professor and Remy were the only ones home, that the task would have to fall upon her; she'd never seen the Professor cook and Remy couldn't be trusted near a stove. Logan hadn't returned from the airport, so Rogue assumed he'd gone to the bar for a few drinks or perhaps the flight for Scott had been delayed and Logan had waited with him. She lay stretched across her bed staring at the window as large fluffy snowflakes swirled in the wind out there.

On her MP3 radio sitting neatly on the dock on her desk, girls sang of love as they fleeted from one relationship to the next or about how popular they were and how wonderful their lives were.

She wished she could find the will to get up and change the station but it hardly seemed worth the energy; she'd hate whatever played, as it wouldn't be relevant and wouldn't offer her advice on how to fix her friendship with the boy she'd hurt with her reluctance to go to Boston.

A knock at her bedroom door came just before seven pm and she'd almost been on the verge of dozing off. She raised her head from her pillow, "hmm?" she asked tiredly.

"May I come in?"

She was surprised to hear the Professor's voice; he rarely _ever_ came up to the second floor so it came almost as a shock.

"Uh...just a moment!" She sat up quickly giving her slightly untidy room a glance to make sure nothing embarrassing was sitting in view; a bra was hanging from the footboard and she grabbed for it and forced it under the covers to hide it, simultaneously looking for anything else, worn panties curled up on the floor or the CDs with foul lyrics. When she was sure everything had been hidden out of sight, she sat primly upon the bed and cleared her throat, "you can come in now."

The door opened awkwardly then the Professor rolled on in, he seemed tired and there was the shadow of stubble on his chin; had he really not bothered to shave today or was this just today's growth?

"I'm thinking of perhaps ordering in some food since it's just the three of us," he stated as he moved towards the bed; he had a pile of takeout menus sitting ontop of the blanket over his lap.

"Where's Logan?" Rogue asked.

"He went to meet with a friend."

Rogue briefly wondered if perhaps Logan's 'friend' was a woman. He had been gone quite a while, after all.

"I'm not sure what you would prefer," the Professor lifted the pile of menus and held them out to her, "Pizza...or Italian, or Chinese..."

As he spoke she flicked through the menus; she wasn't even sure she actually felt hungry.

"There's also an Indian menu there...and Mexican."

She scanned through the menu of an Indian restaurant; she couldn't even remember ever having seen an Indian restaurant in Bayville let alone one that did takeout. "What do you feel like, Professor?" she asked as her eyes drifted across a list of different types of Korma. She didn't even know what a Korma was.

"I think perhaps I would like a plate of reasons why Remy would be feeling quite distressed today."

Her eyes raised from the menu uneasily to meet with the Professor's steady cool gaze. Her face must have paled because she saw his jaw slightly twitch as if in response, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Hmm?" she swallowed.

"I waited and waited to see if perhaps you might come to speak to me..." the Professor confessed, "but...you didn't come to see me at all. I asked Logan when he called if there had been anything said that might have upset Remy earlier in the day_,_ but apparently not. And since Scott and Remy didn't even speak at all to each other today..." the Professor sighed, "that would mean you. Not that I would _like_ to point a finger in your direction, Rogue."

Rogue stared down at the thick rug as her bare toes brushed against the soft pile. She didn't know what to say.

"I can of course tell by your expression alone that something _did_ occur. I didn't even need to use my powers to feel the guilt oozing out of you right now."

She pushed herself up and moved over to the desk and grabbed her MP3 player to look for something less depressing to listen to than girls singing about how messed up their relationships were.

"Rogue..." the Professor groaned, "what _happened_?"

"He overheard somethin'..." she selected an album and placed the MP3 player back into the dock, "somethin' he shouldn't have heard."

"Enlighten me."

Rogue sighed, "Ah don't want to _talk_ about this right now."

"Unfortunate, because I _do_. Do you understand how little _time_ there is left? His consultation is in a few _days_, he is absolutely determined on receiving treatment regardless of the doctor's advice!"

She blinked and she placed a hand against the desk to steady herself; she felt suddenly sick with the thought of Remy demanding treatment that wasn't advised. Especially if the doctor thought Remy's mutant eyes would make treatment difficult to proceed with.

"Cancel it," Rogue tried to suggest calmly.

It was Professor Xavier's turn to blink now. "Pardon?"

"Cancel the consultation. Make up some excuse to Remy about the Doc filled the slot with some other guy...he'll believe you. He _trusts _you."

"He doesn't trust me any more, Rogue. He's angry, and scared, and more than anything, he seems to be _very_ hurt by your refusal to go."

Rogue looked away, "He told you."

"Not in so many words. He advised me you weren't going...I filled in the gaps. I imagine this is what he _overheard_."

"Ah didn't know he was standin' behind the goddamn door," she snapped, then she gave an apologetic look. "Ah just don't _know_ if Ah can do this! Ah don't want to go there with him and watch him make what's probably gonna be the most stupid mistake of his life!"

"Rogue!"

"Ah've already had the whole 'you can't do that to him' lecture from Logan," Rogue remarked, "Ah don't want a repeat of it."

"How could you-?"

"It's not like Ah'm not sorry! When he asked me to go with him Ah was caught off guard and Ah promised...then in bed Ah really _thought_ about it...and how if it went wrong it was gonna tear him up...Ah can't watch him go through that! It'd be too hard to watch!"

The Professor's expression was clouded as he listened to her; she wasn't sure whether he cared for her opinion on this or not.

"Ah went to him and _begged_ him to rethink this...to change his mind and he didn't want to. He's so determined he's gonna get his sight back he's willin' to actually _sacrifice _it, he wants it that _much_..." she shook her head.

The Professor's eyes never left her as she paced from one side of the room to the other.

"You shouldn't have told him, Professor..." she drew her breath, "You should have gave it _time_, he'd have gotten used to this...he'd have been able to think about it _better_. He's still too messed up and he hasn't _accepted_ what's happened. It's too _soon_ for him to go lookin' for cures when he hasn't even come to terms!"

"Who are you to say it's too soon, Rogue?" the Professor asked. "The sources and time I've gone through to _find_ this doctor...this _one_ doctor who is willing to treat Mutants, this one doctor who is a specialist in his field who by coincidence had a cancellation. Do you do know how rare an occurrence this is?"

"Of course Ah know," Rogue replied, her words cold. "But there must be _other_ options out there that you haven't found yet."

"Could you have found them?"

She fell silent.

"I called in so many favours, went through so many different avenues, through four hundred different medical journals, telephoned with twenty-four different specialists – most of whom hung up on me the moment they figured out who I was – just to find this doctor. Of course we could _wait_, of course we could hope there will be other options in future, Rogue. How long could that take? Six months? Six years? Do you think Remy can take much more?"

Her heart sank. She didn't need to answer.

"He is losing his _mind_, he has very little support from _anyone_ here, and now you wish to abandon him at what is going to possibly be one of the most difficult times in his young life. _You,_ who he holds above all others, _you_ who gave him independence is now leaving him alone to get across an impossible hurdle..."

Rogue let out a shuddering breath. Instead of saying anything remotely helpful to the conversation, she sighed, "Fahita pizza."

"Your decision is yours," the Professor sighed, he picked up the menus from where Rogue had tossed them on the bed and he placed them on his lap and he headed for the door, "I can't force you to go and I won't try."

She pursed her lips tightly together, her vision blurred with the threat of tears she refused to let spill.

"Just be sure you're confident about the decision, Rogue," he warned as he was leaving, "I'm not the one who has to live with it; you are."

* * *

WOo! Thanks to everyone for their kind reviews! I'm so glad so many of you are getting really into the story! It makes it more fun to write knowing people are actually invested in what's going to happen next. Happy Royal Wedding day! Love you all!


	16. Part 16

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 16**

**Breath for Breath, Beat for Beat**

* * *

_Rogue was back in the kitchen and she was unable to leave it. It didn't make sense to her and she couldn't begin to fathom why this was so. It seemed simple enough to walk through the door, but each time she did so it was like walking back _in.

_She tried the closet door and found this to be the same impossible mystery, the back door certainly showed _promise_ of the back patio, gardens and basketball court, but walking across the threshold did not take her there. The open archway of the hall promised to take her to the hallway, and yet somehow still kept ending up in the same place. No matter how fast she ran, how much she yelled for help, she could not escape the kitchen._

_And then, without warning, after having stumbled upon the same room a hundred times over. _

_It was an illusion...it had to be. Had she walked into the Danger Room right into some ridiculous program that Scott had created to mess with her? Was this some sick joke? She tried the phone; if this was the Danger room then trying the phone would work, the signal would be sent to the Danger Room and she'd have a direct line. It was how the Danger Room had been programmed._

_The phone was dead, no ringtone at all._

_"This isn't funny!" she called out; if this was the Danger Room, surely whoever was controlling the Program would have gotten their kicks by now?_

_The scene suddenly changed and the kitchen dimmed and became hazy around her. An eerie cold feeling tickled the tenderest spots of her spine and she felt a sudden fear that she should _not turn around._ Somehow, she still forced herself to turn and there she found Remy upon the floor smeared with his own blood. _

_Dark red trails travelled along the channels in the floor tiles, trailing towards her bare feet and she moved back a little, her heart felt like it might explode in her chest._

_Bright red ribbons trickled over the fingers of Remy LeBeau's right hand as he held his left wrist up, and streams of red danced and curved down his forearm, following the prominent veins and tumbling across an old half-healed scab. _

_"You did it again!" she cried in shock._

_She saw the dish towel hanging on the handle of the fridge and she ran for it, the sense of deja vu smacked at her. Her fingers barely grazed the thin white and green gingham fabric and her fingers were suddenly splashed with blood; the towel exploded and fell in a great gush of the red stuff at her bare feet, splattering her perfect white skin with red._

_"Remy..." she gasped in horror as she turned to see him but he wasn't there any more. In the absence of Remy LeBeau, a greater terror lay; the cabinets were streaked with blood, the fridge, the stove, the wall, it was everywhere. It dripped from the tiled counters in thick dark globs and made a deep vibrating thud upon it's landing in the puddles on the floor._

_In the place the glass had been on the floor, a straight-razor lay, half closed, splattered with red; the smell of iron filled her senses like thick like acrid smoke, clinging to her nostrils and ingraining itself right into her brain._

_"REMY!" Rogue cried out desperately, she wasn't sure she was even breathing any more she was so terrified of what she saw. _

I need to find him,_ she thought. _I need to get him to a hospital...I need Hank!

_Something warm and wet splattered upon her cheek, and she glanced up to see blood seeping through the ceiling tiles and through the edge of the strip lighting. It was everywhere, coming through the gap in the cabinet doors, coming through the handles on the drawers, trickling out of the trash bin and even dripping out of the faucet in the sink._

_"STOP IT!" she screamed, her tears mixing with the blood on her cheek. "STOP IT! STOP IT STOP!"_

_She turned towards the archway door but it was no longer there; in it's place was a wall streaked with more blood, the words 'where were you?' were scrawled in huge foot long letters. In horror, she looked for something to throw at the wall, to prove it was a wall and not her imagination. A bowl of fruit was on the table and she reached for the nearest piece – an apple._

_Almost as her fingers grazed the shiny deep red surface she noticed it too, was dripping with blood, and a pair of eyes were staring out of it at her. She gasped and recoiled in disgust; she picked up a blood smeared cup from the table and threw it hard; the wall smashed as if it were glass and the shards of it splattered into the now gooey red blood completely covering the tiles. The archway was there and she threw herself through it and landed in the hallway outside._

_She leaned up seeing the bloody footsteps and drips trailing down the hallway and she gasped as she pulled herself up and began to follow them. The hallway must have been six miles long; her bare feet blistered and her legs ached as she ran desperately trying to get to where the sickbay was and never seeming to get anywhere...it seemed as if no matter how fast she ran, how forcefully she lurched forwards, she would still be in the foyer. _

This isn't happening! This isn't happening! _her thoughts screamed at her. _He can't have lost all this blood! It's impossible! He has to be okay...he has to be alive.

_A low malicious chuckling caught her attention and she glanced upwards to the top of the stairs and Hank McCoy was leaning over the banister, his fur soaked in red, his huge white teeth splattered with it, his eyes void of iris or pupil. His long gorilla-like fingers curled around the red-smeared wood. The sight of this caused her stomach to lurch and not only did she feel almost violently sick, but her heart seemed to stop so suddenly that it hurt._

_Frightened, she began to run again, and suddenly slammed into a door that hadn't been there before. The door handle refused to budge as if someone were holding it shut from the other side and she tackled it as hard as she could and forced the door open, falling in on her knees. _

_She was in the sickbay. The sheets of the left side bed of the room were soaked in blood, the room looked as if a murder had taken place and there were stained bandages and swabs scattered everywhere. She pulled herself up using the door frame as support, leaving her bloody fingerprints across the painted white wood._

_"This isn't right! This is a lie! You're messing with me! This isn't real! This _can't_ be real!" she howled in frustration as tears streamed down her face. Something pelted hard against her nose and she glanced down to see something glittering only momentarily before it dissolved into the pools of blood at her feet. And then another pelt, and another, small hard items slamming against her like tiny drops of solid rain; she held her blood splattered hands out and caught them and found them to shards of glitter. _

_It began to rain red glitter across the room, filling her open palms and burying her feet, sticking to her hair and piling upon her shoulders. The beds disappeared beneath it as it came down heavier and the room was filling up with it, but as she looked up she saw no visible source for it to come from._

_In mere moments, she was up to her waist in glitter, and it was so heavy she could not move from it; faster it piled up, shimmering and reflecting the bright overhead lights, dazzling orange and yellows, sparkles engulfing the room. She was up to her chest, her shoulders, her neck. _

_And then she was swallowed by it completely and as she disappeared beneath the sea of red, a wave seemed to hit her and she was thrown back into the hallway and she thudded hard against the floor, right into a large pool of blood. Blood splattered into her open mouth and she tasted the salty warmth of Remy LeBeau's life upon her tongue and it was bitter and unpleasant. _

_Her eyes fell upon a dark figure propped against the wall facing her, legs folded Buddha-like, arms hanging by his sides, hair fallen over his face. Blood trickled from several slashes across his pale wrists._

_"Remy!" she cried as she pulled herself up, half-slipping in the thick plasma pooling around her, she fell to his side and pushed his hair out of his face to find him the pale and lifeless boy he had been. _

_He'd been dead for hours. There was no hope._

_There would never be hope. _

_She'd have to live with it._

* * *

Rogue gasped loudly and the breath caught hard in her throat so that she was choking on the sobs, tears burned her cheeks, her teeth hurt as if she'd been grinding them hard. The room was completely dark and the sound of the wind outside was howling and whistling around the corners of the building.

"Ssh..." she heard the soft and reassuring voice in the darkness. She felt the arms around her shoulders, holding her hard and firm. She'd been picked up in her sleep and hadn't even felt it stir her.

"Remy..." she sobbed. She couldn't believe he was there. It couldn't be him...it couldn't be.

"Sssh..." his breath was near her ear, hot and but gentle, brushing the tiny hairs there like a feathery kiss.

"But-" she tried, gasping to gain her breath back as she tried to lean forward, she tried to struggle. What she'd seen had been so vivid...it couldn't have been a dream, could it?

"You're dead...Ah saw you dead," she blubbered, head pounding, blood cold as it pumped through her shattered veins.

"Jus' a bad dream, that's all..." Remy promised.

"It wasn't...it wasn't a dream..." she sobbed, "it couldn't have been..." she said between breaths.

"Ssh," he commanded, "jus' lean back and try t' breathe..."

"No...y' aren't here..." she struggled against him, she somehow managed to turn, her legs tangling in the covers; his hands gripped her arms hard.

In the pitch blackness of her room all Rogue saw were the two dim glowing orbs of his irises reminding her of burning embers. The sight of it made her gasp and she held on hard to his shoulders.

He was tangible...but he couldn't be real. How could she trust this after what she'd saw...even the illogical aspects of what she'd seen were so vivid. She could still _taste_ his blood. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on getting her breathing back to normal,

"I'm here..." he murmured.

"No...no you're not..." she refused, she shook her head, swallowing. She _did_ taste blood; she felt the sting on her tongue and wondered if she had bit it in her sleep.

She felt his hand grasp her covered wrist, and her bare hand landed upon the cotton of his nightshirt. Beneath it she felt the soft and steady rhythm of a heartbeat; she felt the rise and fall of his eerily calm breathing.

Rogue kept her eyes closed and she tried to mimic his breathing, tried to force her heartbeat to synch with his as if she could match him breath for breath, beat for beat. Each soft slow exhale from Remy blew against her dry lips; as she licked them, the touch of his breath felt cool and icy, tingling and pleasant. She'd only ever been this close to him once before and it had not ended well for him.

Suddenly, she became aware of his hand upon her chest, slightly left of the centre and dangerously close to the collar of her night dress. At first, it seemed as if he were going to move his hand down to cup her breast, but she soon realised she'd underestimated him. His hand remained there, and soon the dizzying realisation followed that he was feeling her heartbeat. It was the most tangible thing he _could_ do in this darkness that engulfed them both. It was all they could share.

Although she finally caught her breath, more tears began to pour from her eyes and she sobbed relentlessly, putting both her hands to her face. She'd never had a dream so genuinely terrifying, and the feeling that it still lingered with her in the bedroom had not gone away. She was too frightened to put the light on for fear that her bedroom walls would be dripping with blood and that Remy would be corpse-like where he sat.

He offered his shoulder to her and she was too weak to refuse; her tears trickled into the cotton of his nightshirt and she wondered if those tears were also red. She gripped hard and desperately at the sides of his shirt, fists curled tight and she sobbed uncontrollably.

For a moment, Remy didn't seem to know how to handle it; she felt his hesitation when he pulled the blankets and wrapped them completely around her. Everything that had happened the previous morning seemed to have become a distant memory and mattered no more as they sat there like that for a time and she cried until no more tears would spill.

There were no words between them, no promises, no lies, no bitterness. Everything was the darkness that despite the horror that might lay outside of it, was comforting and reassuring for this moment and this moment only. He leaned back against her pillows and she curled against him, afraid to move, afraid that this may be a dream, that the real nightmare was what she would wake up to, the blood, the death, the empty lifeless stare.

As time began to pass, Remy's breathing seemed to slow and steady and as she lay there in his arms, wrapped in her blankets, the light from the window seeped through the slit in the curtains and dimly brought the room into her view. As the sun rose, the room warmed with the light and everything familiar made itself known once again.

Her walls were purple, not red. No blood seeped through the paint, or dripped from counter tops and stained mattresses and blankets. Her hands were not sticky, the patterns of her fingerprints did not stand out with dried blood.

Remy had _not_ bled to death. He was fine, sleeping silently it seemed, with his arms around her slightly loose, his mouth hanging open, his eyelashes slightly clotted with infection, his brows slightly flaky with dry skin and nearly healed blisters.

Despite the reassurance that her world was the same, something in her had _changed_ and she couldn't pinpoint what that was. She would never be able to get the thought of his blood out of her mind again.

Pressing her head against his chest, she listened to the soft and steady beating of his heart and let it lull her into the sleep her troubled mind craved.

* * *

**End of Part 16**

* * *

Wow it's been a busy week, but I'm glad to finally find time to get this one out. Hope everyone is doing fine and are still enjoying the story. It's been a pretty big week for reviews, had some really good ones, alot of questions and critique (don't get me wrong, I don't mind constructive criticism, it's just I've had it in my time where it's been downright insultive and that's when it bothers me). I had a few questions and I'll try to answer some before I hit "save" here.

To **Fireball Fever**: Professor's comment of "it's scaring me" might seem slightly out of character, but it was meant to signify how absolutely thrown he was by the things he heard from Remy's thoughts (the broken bits and pieces he did hear/sense). I also knew if I'd written something along the lines of his usual comment (as you mentioned "troubled") then Remy wouldn't have been able to respond his revelation of being scared and it was an important part of the tantrum for Remy to be able to admit it in such a way (and yes, his tantrums are getting old). As for Remy's age in this, I believe I penned him at being eighteen to nineteen. Yes, his behaviour is out of character for HIM, but as you guessed, it's his reverting to being a scared little boy that is making him act in such a way. My version of Remy I see as the kid who was forced to grow up too fast and was never taught properly about how to deal with feelings or issues properly. Lets not forget, not only has the rug been swept out from under him that he may NEVER see again, but he's trapped with people who were the enemy with a girl who hasn't said she loves him back. He's in the dark living a life with no joy and acting out and causing a fuss is about the only "feeling" he can really get out of his life.


	17. Part 17

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 17**

**LATE**

* * *

Rogue's eyes fluttered open at midday, just in time to see the small red numbers on her alarm clock go from 11.59am to 12.00pm. She breathed in and exhaled through her nose and pushed her hair away from her face.

She couldn't ever remember having slept quite so well before; waking up felt wonderful. The mansion was peaceful, the room was pleasantly warm, and while she still felt wonderfully sleepy, her limbs were not heavily achy as they usually were in the morning. Leaning up, she gave a yawn and brushed the sleep crust from her eyes and rolled over.

"Remy, get up. We oversle-" she began and she stopped herself to find that he was not there with her at all. She sat up and looked around the room; nothing was changed from the last time she'd left it, although her covers were in the same tangled mess she remembered them being after awakening from her nightmare. She combed her fingers through her matted hair, wondering where the hair-tie she'd gone to bed wearing had disappeared to. She gathered she would eventually find it when she made the bed.

It struck her at once that Remy had been quick enough to awaken and get out of the room before being caught by someone. All it would take was for either the Professor or Logan to check Remy's room to see if he was all right and the fact he'd spent the night in Rogue's room would be a drama that would suddenly find itself blown way out of proportion.

_Ah don't need _that_ drama in my life right now,_ she thought. Despite the impossibilities of _anything_ prohibited within the mansion walls, she was fully aware that regardless if anything had happened or not, she would have received a very lengthy lecture and a heavy grounding for possibly months.

_Why didn't Logan come running? Didn't he even make it home last night?_ She pondered as she searched the bed, unable to find her hair tie. Giving up, she decided to get on with the morning; she'd have to steal another from Kitty Pryde's room later.

While she showered and washed her hair she considered everything carefully; yesterday's events, the nightmare, and Remy's staying with her to ride out the fear. Everything had come as unpredictable and somewhat alarming.

The most alarming part was that despite their argument regarding her not going to Boston, Remy had _been_ there when she'd been terrified. He'd thrown aside his hurt and held her in a moment of _hers_. A confusing but special act that she was sure must have been awkward for him. Regardless of the things that had been said, he'd been the bigger person and put himself out there; Rogue felt her stomach flutter thinking of it.

_He was there when Ah needed him,_ she chewed her lip as she swiped the fog from the mirror following her shower, and she stared at her pale slightly distorted reflection, her dark hair dripping, her white streaks shone silver in the sunlight spilling through the bathroom window. She had to reconsider. _Had_ she really needed him at all? If she'd awakened alone would she have gone to him to _ask_ for his attention and understanding, to beg for him to help her get through the night that had terrified her?

No. She decided she would have not gone to him, she'd have lay in the dark of her room trembling, but she'd have never humiliated herself by running to him and letting him _know_ about the nightmare she'd had.

Rogue took her time dressing and drying her hair; it gave her time to think about things, and to try and understand why she had had such a chilling nightmare in the first place. Of course, it was logical to assume that her concerns about Remy's reaction to bad news regarding his consultation might be behind the events in the dream. But was there more?

She remembered being _terrified _in the dream_. _Not terrified of the blood; she had felt no fear of touching it, not even at the taste of it in her mouth. The fear...the fear had been for _him, _that he was somewhere, bleeding, that she needed to get to him before the last drops of life ran free of his veins.

The dream meant more than she had originally thought. It couldn't just be about guilt...and it couldn't be about making the wrong decisions, could it?

As Rogue expertly brushed on her purple eyeshadow, she tried to decipher the dream detail by detail.

_The night he came here, the room Ah couldn't leave...the wall Ah had to break through...the Apple that was looking at me, _she reminded herself. _What do they all mean?_

Of course it made sense to dream about the night he'd come to stay with them, and all of the blood; she _was_ concerned he would possibly have an accident again, this time a more _deliberate_ one...that was why there was a straight-razor laying in the blood. It was mirroring her worry.

_What about the room Ah couldn't leave?_ She pondered as she dug into her makeup bag for her black kohl pencil. She supposed a room she couldn't leave meant many things. Going back into things that had already happened...repeating things...not moving on. Feeling _trapped._

_And the wall? _She asked of herself as she lined her eyes carefully and precisely, noting her eyes seeming to pop with the contrast, the colour of her faded olive green seemed to be more bright, more fierce. _Ah _am _constantly running into walls when it comes to tryin' to help Remy...and tryin' to get him to see he _can_ get through this,_ she reasoned.

She smudged the eyeliner with the tip of a finger, smoothing it out and giving the eyes a more smoky and soft appearance. _The apple,_ she thought while she combed thick mascara through her long lashes. The apple with the eyes had been one of the more disturbing elements of the dream, and she'd seen it before in a feverish state when she'd become ill. What did an apple represent?

_Forbidden Fruit,_ she told herself sternly. _Something you can't have...something you really _shouldn't_ have. It's not exactly brain-science to work that one out, is it?_

Picking up her lipstick, she sighed at the thought of things she couldn't have – and there were many of them. Even if she _wanted_ to be with Remy, there were too many limitations. Too much forbidden.

Carefully, she applied the colour to her lips, bringing them out full and dark cherry red, they stood out beautifully against her pale skin. Her eyes searched her face in the mirror; she looked like herself, as always. She was still _unhappy_ with how she looked.

Who was to see how she looked? Who would find _this_ beautiful? What was the _point_ of trying when nothing she did seemed to matter and how she looked meant nothing any more? Who would care about it? The Professor and Logan didn't care what she looked like, she was merely a student.

And Remy...

Well...Remy couldn't see any more.

Frustratedly she swept all her makeup off the dresser, sending it flying across the room, smacking against the walls and the floor. She grabbed for the box of face cleansing wipes that had managed to avoid her wrath and she pulled the one popping out of the lid. Like a clowns pocket, one after the other they came out, one, two, three, four, five. She didn't care. She took them and wiped them across her face angrily, smearing the perfectly applied makeup down until her reflection became the tragic face of a sad clown.

She wiped and she wiped until her cheeks became pink and most of the traces of makeup were gone; only the dark smudges under her eyes and the dark dots embedded in her eyelashes spoke of the kohl pencil that had once been there.

_Ah don't care any more, _she thought bitterly.

She left her bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen; she could smell coffee so that meant at least Logan had recently brewed a pot so he must have been home. The mansion's generic brand of fresh coffee wasn't as good as a Starbucks coffee, but it would have to suffice, she supposed.

In the kitchen, Remy LeBeau was seated at the table, his hands hugging a cup of black coffee that looked like it might have gone cold.

A surge of fondness seemed to dance along every vein and bone in herself to see Remy there, a surge that she'd never felt before in his presence that now was so strong it felt as if it were beginning to envelop her.

_What do Ah say to him?_ She wondered as she stood there. _Should Ah bring it up or let him bring it up? Or should Ah just pretend it didn't happen and wait to see if he wants to ask about it? _

She finally decided against waiting for him to do the talking – surely he'd heard her steps, surely he knew she'd been there all these moments and had no intentions of being the first to speak. He'd been up front about most things up until this point, she supposed it should be her now that brought up the subject of last night, and made a point to let him know she was grateful for his presence.

Drawing a nervous breath, Rogue moved across to put her hand upon his shoulder despite still feeling awkward and ashamed of herself from the day before. "Hey," she greeted, the cheeriness forced, her voice far too high in pitch.

It surprised her when Remy flinched out of her touch, recoiling as if he was absolutely disgusted with the idea of her fingers being anywhere near his shoulder. If this act hadn't been startling enough, his first word cut into her deeper than she was sure Logan's adamantium claws could.

"Don't."

Rogue blinked and stood dumbfounded; this wasn't the kind of reaction she had expected following his actions in the very early hours of the morning. Besides...since when had the _touchy-feely _Remy LeBeau _ever _been one to recoil from _any _girl's touch?

_Maybe he's just in a bad mood because he slept badly. My screaming in my sleep maybe woke him up last night...no wonder he's feeling cranky._

She tried to recover quickly, she recomposed herself, shrugged off the confusion and tried to move on and avoid stop over it. She quickly paced over to the coffee maker and grabbed the pot, pouring half of the contents into a small cup. "Do...you want a fresh cup of coffee?" she queried, noting that the coffee in his hands had that greasy spot floating at the top of the tar coloured liquid, and no steam seemed to rise from it anymore.

"No."

Trying to not let herself be pulled down by his somewhat icy conduct, she pushed further, "Have you had lunch? Ah could make you a sandwich if you like...Ah think there's some Pastrami in the fridge that hasn't been eaten yet..."

"I don' need anythin' from you."

Again, she was taken aback by his reaction. Very bewildered and hurt didn't even begin to explain away the feelings she was experiencing at his cold shoulder. She sat down slowly at the table near him, her cup in her hand. As he heard her sit, he moved instantly and got up, taking his cold coffee to the sink and pouring it down the drain after placing his left hand upon the edge of the sink to get his bearings.

"Is...something wrong?" she asked.

He said nothing, he rinsed the cup, found and put it in the dish rack and he turned the faucet off promptly.

Rogue stared uneasily down into her coffee, "thanks...for last night, by the way."

She caught his quick movement as he turned, his face harsh, his brows knitted in a frown, "what?"

"Last night...this morning, or...whatever time it was," she said pointedly, she took a small sip, the coffee was lukewarm. "Thanks, by the way, for making it out before someone caught us."

"Pardon?"

His expression was odd, she couldn't quite read it other than the hint of bitterness making his jaw tight in that odd way it did. Rogue cleared her throat, "you know..." she reminded.

"No, I _don't_ know," he answered, his voice was so cold, so...unfeeling. She wasn't used to hearing him speak in such a way.

"You woke me up from a nightmare..." Rogue's voice became tiny.

"I _what_?" he asked.

"The nightmare...you woke me," she stammered nervously, "you...you held me in your arms...you stayed with me..."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about, _Rogue_?" why did he say her name like this? Why did he no longer call her _chere_, as he once had? She wished for him to call her that now, and she wished to know that everything was going to be okay. "I slept like a _rock,_" he stated after several moments which she had spent contemplating the situation.

"But...Ah..." she began.

"You what?"

"Ah fell asleep in your _arms..._how could you _not_ remember that?"

"Because it didn't happen..." he headed for the door.

"But-"

"I don't know _what_ y' dreamt last night, but whatever y' think happened...it didn't. I slept solid all through the night. And after how y' _treated_ me yesterday...y' honestly think I would go _runnin'_ t' help your selfish ass out?"

It couldn't be that this had _all_ been a dream surely? Everything had been so vivid, the feeling of his heart, the warmth of his breath, the strength of his hold. How could she have imagined it?

But then...hadn't everything in her nightmare been incredibly vivid too?

No, she didn't believe that. It _couldn't_ be possible. She couldn't have had a nightmare _within_ a dream and made up this whole scene of Remy LeBeau coming to her rescue and holding her through the night.

Remy gave something of an ironic and bitter laugh as if he could barely believe what she'd told him.

"Ah...Ah felt so _safe _with you..."

"Did you?" he didn't sound interested in hearing about this at all. He seemed like he could really care less.

"Ah thought you had forgiven me..." she said quietly.

He snorted, "I guess I shouldn' be _surprised _y' would think that. Jus' dream it's all easy without y' havin' to sacrifice anythin' or even lay yourself out there and say you're fuckin' _sorry_. Then come down here all peachy-keen actin' like everything is all hunky-dory and nothin' happened. The girl known as Rogue, the _great avoider._"

Rogue couldn't help but gape at him.

"It figures..." he shook his head, his damaged eyes stared blindly at her, his eyelids puffy, his eyebrows still knitted into that tight angry frown.

"W-what does?" she blinked.

"It's just like you...isn't it? It's so _predictable_."

"What is?"

"That y' start dreamin' about fallin' asleep in my arms and feelin' safe with me _after_ it's too late."

Rogue chewed her lip and watched him hovering at the door's archway. "It's...it's not too late, is it?"

Remy gave a disgusted grunt, his hand lingered upon the frame of the archway, his mouth trembled for a moment, then he uttered, "what do you think?" before he finally turned and left her sitting there alone.

* * *

**End of Part 17**

* * *

Thanks for all the great reviews! I recieved so many for part 16, I was overwhelmed and it was awesome! So many of you have so many thoughts and it's awesome to always hear them (my gmail box was nearly full of reviews and adds and that's so much nicer to see than an empty gmail box! lol). I'm hoping to have part 18 up soon (maybe within the next few days hopefully!). Hope you all enjoyed this part (as confusing as it may be)!


	18. Part 18

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 18**

**FIGHT**

* * *

One thing that was tolerableabout being blind was that it was very easy to avoid people; if you didn't have to look into their faces you couldn't feel irritated by their presence and could only hope they didn't decide to engage any confrontations. Today it was extra easy to avoid Rogue and Remy was extra thankful for that.

He had felt somewhat relieved when she'd eventually taken the keys to the X-Men's van (without asking, much to Logan's disdain) and taken off without a word. If she wasn't there right now then he couldn't run into her, and if he couldn't run into her then he could avoid any further confrontations.

Still, despite the relief that she wasn't home, Remy had to keep reminding himself to not constantly wonder where she might be and what she might doing...what she would be _thinking_.

_Stop worryin' about it. Y' got more important things t' worry about at the moment,_ he told himself sternly as he paced the lonely halls of the mansion merely for the exercise; his feet were sore from walking back and forth so much but he had to kill the idleness that was engulfing his whole life.

_Ain' long now,_ he thought to himself, trying to take his mind off Rogue. He would be leaving for Boston tomorrow with the Professor, and then on the twenty-ninth he'd finally go to see the Doctor about what could be done to help regain some of his sight. This definitely _should_ have been more concerning than wondering what Rogue was doing and where she might be doing it right at that moment in time.

Remy's stomach churned every time he thought of his consultation. He kept playing conversations he thought he might be having in his head so he could try to at least prepare himself somewhat for what he may hear. He wasn't prepared for the positive, that was for sure. All the same, whatever happened, he had been trying to plan ahead. If things went badly and his life didn't go where he wanted it to go, there was no other plan than going to New Orleans.

_I should have told Rogue I'm not comin' back,_ Remy considered, he lingered in the foyer, his hand trailing the wall absently. He tried to imagine what the look on her face would be once he did make this revelation.

Perhaps it would have matched the expression she'd had on her face when he'd told her that his coming to her room and waking her from a terrifying nightmare and holding her as she slept had actually never happened – that she must have dreamt the whole thing.

Oh how he wished he could have seen that expression. If only for the brief satisfaction to see that the revelation had hurt her, as she had hurt him.

Remy felt disgusted with himself and his need to make her miserable about what she'd done and said. God knows, the girl had had enough misery in her life; it was simply unfair of him to add to it. But yet...why not? Why not let her feel as _miserable_ as he did? Why not let her have a _taste_ of her own medicine?

_How can y' do this to someone y' love? _He asked of himself.

Of course, there were few answers other than she'd hurt him...terribly. He wasn't used to being hurt like that...not by someone he cared deeply for.

He wanted her to suffer after what she'd done...and it come so naturally to him to cause her to do so. Playing games was something he did _best,_ and if she wanted to play games by hurting him and taking back her words and promises, then fine. He could do it too.

And he had.

It hadn't been the plan intentionally when he'd heard her blood-curdling screams in the middle of the night; he'd been awakened abruptly after just barely falling asleep and despite feeling absolutely furious with her still, he had still been unable to help himself when he'd gone to her and held her in his arms. The part of him that was still hopelessly in love with her had held him to the bed during the night, reminding himself it may be the only chance to be with her that he might ever have.

But as the night had progressed and he'd lay there pretending to sleep, his mind had began to whirr with possibilities and plans and thoughts and feelings. Even after all that had happened, he still couldn't forgive her. And he wanted her to at least _feel_ hurt so that she understood how he felt.

This was the game _she_ had started, he was merely ending it. She was the amateur but _he_ was the master at this.

His behaviour that afternoon at the kitchen table had no doubt left her reeling, and that was why for the first time in days she'd taken off without saying anything to anyone. She'd gone somewhere to sit and mope and think about what had happened.

At least he _hoped_ so. The thought that she might be sitting somewhere, brooding and considering everything left him with just a little bit of self-satisfaction.

It was ironic to him that it seemed to be _now_ she likely wanted some kind of romantic relationship with him. Her words this morning had left no doubt in his mind this was the case...and she had sounded so upset when he'd told her it was too late. He clung to the sound of her voice, savoured it.

_Y' hurt me, Rogue. Now y' know how it feels. _

Of course, the thought crossed his mind and had now settled that her reaction now was simply predictable Rogue. Wanting something she _can't_ have; she _lived_ for the misery of wanting things she couldn't have. She damn well thrived on wanting things she couldn't have.

It occurred to him that Rogue would actually even enjoy the misery of his rejection earlier. She had always been the kind of girl to revel in misery and gloom after all. It seemed to him Rogue had never tried to change her life, never focused on finding something to make herself happy, never tried to move on from things. Giving her another reason to be upset was probably just adding more welcome fuel to a fire. Just one more thing for her to sit and gripe about that she couldn't change. Being _miserable_ was probably the only thing that made her some semblance of happy.

Trying to force his thoughts away and think about the struggles ahead and the things he might face at the consultation, he found the front door and stepped outside onto the front steps of the mansion; the smell of smoke instantly smacked him in the face like a baseball bat made of nicotine. It was delightful.

Remy heard a soft grunt, and that sound of someone exhaling a long stream of smoke that had sat in their lungs for several moments.

"What you doin' out here?" came the response of Logan a second later.

Forcing his hands into his pockets, Remy approached, "walkin', passin' the time."

"Big day tomorrow for you, Gumbo."

"Yep."

"All excited?"

"About the prospect of losin' my sight completely? Oh yeah, I'm fuckin' jumpin' for joy...forgive me, I forgot t' bring my trampoline out with me."

Logan snorted, a half laugh. "Expect the worst so you don't get disappointed, huh?" he asked.

"Not usually my philosophy, but for now it'll do," Remy breathed in the smell of smoke; his lungs ached for it and his nerves shook for it. "Y' not gon' offer a down on his luck Thief a cig?" he asked hopefully.

"Rules, Gumbo. You ain't allowed to smoke on these premesis."

"And you?"

"I'm allowed to smoke here when there's no students," Logan replied; Remy heard he sound of Logan taking a long drag.

"What about me?"

"You're not a student."

"I suppose not," Remy admitted, bemused. It was strange how he could even hear the sound of Logan flicking the cigarette. Oh how that ash must have danced in the wind. "If y' give a cigarette, I won't tell the Prof," he offered.

"No."

Remy sighed, he folded his arms, angry like a stubborn child. "Y' know, it's been a good _month_ since I had a smoke; I could do with _somethin' _to calm my nerves right now."

"Kid like you shouldn't be smokin'."

"I'm not a kid," Remy reminded.

"You think it makes you look cool?" Logan chuckled.

Remy breathed in through his nose, the smoke smelled foul to him, but he still yearned for it all the same. "I look cool no matter what I do," he replied. "C'mon, lemme bum jus' _one_. My nerves are screamin' the name of Lady Nicotine right now."

Logan was silent for a moment, smoking the cigarette that Remy wished he had. Finally, he sighed, "If you tell Charles..."

"I won't," Remy said, relieved. Finally, _something_ tangible he could at least enjoy and rely on.

He heard Logan lighting a cigarette for him; that soft flick of a zippo lighter, and the metallic snap of it being shut. It was awkward, trying to remember how to hold a cigarette when you couldn't see it – and having to be careful not being able to see how far the lit end was away from his bare fingers.

Lifting the cigarette to his lips and taking that first drag was like smoky hot ecstasy. He took it in deep and sighed in relief, letting it linger and swirl in his lungs. It had been so long, that the first drag was intoxicating and rewarding.

"Feel better now?" Logan asked; Remy had the distinct impression the man was smirking.

"Tons," Remy answered before a long exhale. _Tons_ might have been a slight exaggeration. _Somewhat_ was closer to the truth.

"So," said Logan, the sound of him taking a deep draw from his own cigarette, a long pause and an exhale. "Charles told me you're thinking about going back to Louisana."

"No _thinkin' _about it. I am," Remy replied.

"What will you do there?"

Remy shrugged, he took another drag and thought for a moment, "Maybe go find a girl, try t' settle," he lied. "I was told bein' blind wouldn't stop me from havin' a wife and kids."

"Doesn't seem like the kinda life you wanted."

"It isn't," Remy remarked, "but what else can I expect? I'm blind, I won't be able t' do anythin' _normal. _I can't have the life I was born for any more."

Logan took several moments to reflect; Remy heard a sizzling sound and he assumed the man had put the cigarette out into his hand to stop it from littering the Mansion steps. "What about becoming a student?"

Remy turned to Logan's general direction (or at least the direction he sounded to be in) and stared blankly ahead at the darkness that was all he was capable of seeing. "Hmm?"

"Do you need me to _repeat_ the question, gumbo?"

"Become a student?" Remy coughed just a little, "Here?"

"Sure. You could always stay. There's a school at the other end of town for the blind. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't," Remy replied coolly. Was Logan _really_ trying to talk him into staying? Or was this the Professor's doing?

"You could go to the school in the day just like the other kids do – then in the mornings and the evenings train with us."

"Christ," Remy muttered under his breath. He didn't want to discuss this, he didn't want to even think about it right now.

"You're not completely stuck to an ordinary life, kid. But you'd have to work at it to make it what you want. Just because you can't see shit doesn't mean your life is over. There's a lot you could still do."

"Like what?"

"If you give yourself a chance and stop _whinin'_ about being able to do nothin', you'd actually maybe find out," Logan retorted. "But it's gotta come from you, you're the one who has to want it. God knows, you're ready to take a risk like this _consultation _thing...surely somethin' like trying to adjust and become who you want to be _regardless_ of bein' blind isn't gonna stop you?"

Remy listened, his heart sinking with each sentence Logan spouted. "Are y' stupid? I can't _be_ who I wanna be while still bein' fuckin' blind. Why does no one get that?"

"Are you just gonna _give up, _then? Give in like there's no fight left in you?"

Truthfully, Remy had no answer. At least not the answer that Logan seemed to want to hear.

"You're eighteen, you're strong, you're _capable._ You're not ready to give up...you got plenty of fight left in you yet. You might _beat this_, you might _not._ Either way, you can turn it around and do something with it, turn your _life_ around and do something with it."

Remy finally sighed, "It's too late for all that."

"Why?"

Why? Why? Because he'd deliberately burned his bridges with Rogue and he didn't much feel like rebuilding them after what she'd done? Because he'd accidentally burned his bridges with the Professor in a ridiculous tantrum and didn't know how to ask for forgiveness? Because he was _scared_?

"Because it _is,_" Remy forced a shrug, he concentrated on his expression and hoped he made it seem as if he didn't care anymore while he took another long drag and savoured it.

"Why?"

"Because if I'm _blind_, I can't _fight,_ and if I can't fight what _good_ am I?"

"Whoever told you that you can't fight blind?"

"It ain' possible," Remy remarked.

"Says who?" Logan asked.

"Oh, c'mon, all this _shit_ in the movies about people bein' able t' fight blind, bein' able t' rely on their senses...bein' able t' know _exactly_ where t' hit an enemy at, bein' able t' catch fuckin' _bullets_ in their teeth without even bein' able t' see it comin'. It's all just Hollywood shit."

"It's really not," said Logan. "I know it's possible because I've _done_ it."

"Oh?" Remy asked, he tried to feign disinterest but he couldn't deny that his attention was slightly piqued now.

"Years ago," said Logan, "got caught fightin' with Sabretooth. _Real_ dirty fighter, but then you _know_ that. He threw acid in my face...I started burnin' away _instantly. _From what I was told it burned right down to the skull in some places. It was a good long while – I'm talkin' _months_ – before I'd healed and could see."

"But y' got them powers that heal...y' _knew_ y' sight would come back."

"For the longest while I thought it wouldn't. But I couldn't let myself give up...so I trained...under some of the _best_ martial artists I could find. And I learned to fight, how to _survive_ a fight _without_ needin' to see. Even _after_ I started to gain my sight back, I trained blindfolded to make _sure_ the next time it happened, I'd be prepared."

"For you that'd be _easy,_" Remy reminded, "Y' got those heightened senses that make it _possible_ for you to do that shit. You can hear things, smell things... I'm not that lucky."

"You aren't even willing to _try,_ are you? You're just willing to give up? Let it get you down? Shit, Gumbo. I thought you had more balls than that."

Remy snorted, "right."

"No, I really did," Logan stated, he moved away, Remy heard the front door opening and could sense Logan hovering there. "I thought...wow, he's gonna take the risk and go to that appointment knowing what could happen...that takes guts..."

Of course, Remy had certainly _heard _Logan saying something to this affect to Rogue. He hadn't said he was impressed with the decision of course, or that he _admired_ the decision and the risk. If anything, Remy had thought perhaps Logan had simply been exaggerating his admiration to talk Rogue out of wanting to back out from her plans. While it had been _nice_ to know Logan had fought on his side, Remy hadn't truthfully believed the man had ever admired him for his 'guts'.

"Look," said Remy; why was it the word _look _still stung like someone had just branded him with a hot iron...the word _blind_ was now forever burned into his carcass. "Even if I _wanted_ to stay, it's not gonna _work,_ too much conflict here."

"With Rogue?"

"With _everyone,_" Remy grunted. "But yes, Rogue."

"She really burned you, didn't she?" Logan asked; Remy felt it was a stupid question and an obvious answer should follow it.

Remy couldn't bring himself to say anything and instead decided to simply continue smoking the cigarette he'd bummed.

"Just because she changed her mind about going with you, doesn't mean she doesn't _care_, Gambit," Logan stated.

"If she _cared_, she wouldn't have changed her mind," Remy retorted.

"You don't think it would be _hard_ to watch someone you care about go through something you know might cause them damage for the rest of their _life_?" Logan asked. "Watching someone you care about get _hurt_ can break your _heart. _That's if you_ have_ a heart, and we _both_ know Rogue does."

Remy doubted it. She'd said she _cared_, but obviously it wasn't enough. Obviously caring wasn't strong enough or nothing would have stopped her from being at his side when he went for this consultation. If Rogue _had_ a heart, it certainly wasn't left reserved for him.

"All she's _done_ since the day you got here is _took care of you. _I'm not sayin' you're _not_ grateful, but you're missing the point. She's gone out of her _way_ for you, her school work slipped, her training has suffered, but she has put _one hundred percent_ into being there for you, even when she's been _mad_ at you. She's _invested_ in you – god knows _why! - _and you're standing there all 'woe is me' too _blind_ to see that she _does_ care."

The word _blind_ still stung, no matter how many times it had been used.

"And it wouldn't take a _seeing_ person to _know_ that she cares about you."

The wind picked up, the cigarette between Remy's fingers got blazingly hot and he dropped it, he tried to stamp it out but he was sure he missed, not having seen the direction it fell.

"Look, it's jus' better for _everyone_ if I don't come back here after Boston. She'll get on with her life how she was meant t' be, and none of you will be inconvenienced with my _disability_ any longer."

"Do you _want_ to go back to New Orleans?" Logan asked seriously.

Remy felt the bite of the cold nip his fingers and sweep across his bare face. He didn't have an answer to that. He hadn't thought if he truly _wanted_ to go and he hadn't expected to ever be asked.

"Or do you want to stay here...with us?"

With a deep sigh, Remy shrugged.

"It's not a hard question. You can either chicken it, and piss off back to New Orleans and get of _our_ hair and leave us with the impression that you're a weak coward who'd rather this defeat him than fight back. Or...you can stay, face your demons, repair the damage you did, learn to come to grips with what's happened to you and become an X-Man. It's up to you, Gumbo. What do you want?"

Remy swallowed a hard lump that had grown in his throat. He didn't _know_ what he wanted out of those things. All he really wanted right now was his sight. Perhaps if he had his sight, this question would be easy to answer, perhaps he'd be able to _see_ the possibilities rather than just hear about them.

"I guess you'll figure it out," said Logan. "I'm sure regardless of what you said to Charles, he'd still advise you that no matter what you decide, there's always gonna be a place here for you, at the school of two-faced liars."

The front door closed and Remy felt the loneliness join him there on the porch as Logan had left. He hugged himself against the cold and sighed his deepest sigh. This was such a mess, and he was almost positive the damage _couldn't_ be repaired and he was absolutely positive he really did have no more fight in him to even try.

* * *

**End of Part 18**

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for their reviews! I've had so many, and each time I upload a chapter, I see more and more. It literally makes my day when I check my ipod email in the morning and see several of them waiting for me! Anyway, I've been sleep deprived for a couple of days. It's time to zonk out hopefully for the night and wake up a year older...zzzzzzzzzzzzz. **


	19. Part 19

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 19**

**GAMES**

* * *

The plane ride went by like only moments had passed; Remy hadn't realised he'd fallen asleep during the flight until he'd felt the shake of the plane going in for landing, and it was no time at all until he was being led off the plane by a very nice flight attendant called Kimber.

There was a private car waiting for them outside the airport, and Remy had to stand and be patient as the driver had to help the Professor get into the car, and fold away the wheelchair for transport.

As Remy listened to their talking, and heard the noise of the wheelchair being laid in the trunk, he couldn't help but be reminded that his own disability wasn't the only one that was an inconvenience at times. In fact, the whole journey had been like this from start to finish; waiting for the Professor to get out of the car, having to stand around patiently as the Professor was taken on board the plane via their own special chair while his own was put in with the luggage. It had never occurred to him before how inconvenient even travelling could be for the Professor. Remy felt suddenly so thankful he at least had the use of his legs.

It felt good to be out of the Mansion and the Xavier grounds, although because it was the first time, the sudden rush of noise and life all around him was confusing and stressful, and he found it hard to concentrate on the Professor's voice. The sound of traffic seemed painfully loud, and there were so many different smells and new things to get used to in his surroundings that he was floored by it all. It was almost surreal; the world felt like a different place now.

_How could I have not expected this?_ Remy pondered as he held onto the handles of the wheelchair, pretending that he was pushing rather than being led. The last thing he wanted the world to know was that behind his dark glasses, he couldn't see. In the hotel lobby they had to wait again because their suite wasn't ready yet; the suite was a large penthouse with disabled access which Remy had been told was a rarity. Waiting in the hotel lobby left Remy uneasy; he'd never thought he would miss the mansion, but now was beginning to realise how peaceful and relatively easy it was to get around in comparison to the _real world._

After what seemed to be an hour, they were taken to their suite by one of managers in the hotel, she explained about the various features of the room; low down light switches, rails in the bathroom by the toilet, a seat in the shower. Remy wasn't even the one who _needed_ these things but he felt humiliation of having to have it explained nonetheless. The Professor must have felt this way too, Remy reckoned.

When the woman left, the bellboy arrived with their suitcases and asked if they needed any help with unpacking or any other help with anything. Remy had snappily remarked _"no, we don't need your help!"_

With that, the boy had left, by the sounds of it, with a tip from the Professor.

Remy grumbled as he stood in the unfamiliar suite, "They think jus' 'cause we got things wrong with us that we're capable of _fuck all._"

"Remy..." sighed the Professor, his intolerance for swearing never seemed to change and Remy wished the old man could just accept that his language was one of the things that he struggled to filter at times like this.

"It's like they think we're _incapable_," Remy continued.

"They're just being helpful."

"I could do without it."

"I thought perhaps we may go to dinner later rather than call in for room service," said the Professor to change the subject. Remy couldn't miss that sound in the Professor's voice that had been there since his outburst the day before. "You can discuss any anxiety or concerns you have regarding the consultation and you can ask me any questions that you might need to then."

Remy didn't feel much like dinner. He didn't feel much like anything other than getting this over and done with so he could figure out what came next. What he was supposed to do with the rest of his life? How was dining in a restaurant full of people and distractions going to help him decide what to do?

While the Professor went about making phone calls to make a reservation at a restaurant, Remy felt around the suite's living room, and he found a sofa upon which he settled himself. Remy listened to the Professor talking on the phone with someone, asking about wheelchair access and disabled bathrooms; hearing this left knots in the pit of Remy's stomach.

_This_ was what disabled life was like, having to hope the world would adapt to meet your needs, having to always check, having to struggle to find the right place, the right thing, the right way of doing something. This would be the rest of _his_ life if he remained blind.

It would be having to learn Braille and hoping that restaurants and cafes would have Braille menus, or that pharmacies would carry medicines with Braille lables. Having to walk _everywhere_ with a white stick, hell, even perhaps a seeing eye dog.

This was the future that would be lay down for him if he decided to stay with the X-Men. If this was the future, he wasn't sure he would _want_ it. He wasn't sure he _could_ live like that.

_It could go well,_ he thought as he picked at a loose thread he felt on the inside seam on the left knee of his jeans. Yes, he supposed it might go well. But the possibility of it seemed very unlikely. He'd been told to not get his hopes up too much, and that was never a good sign. If that was anything to go by, then the plan was already laid out and all he had to do was accept it.

The Professor put down the phone; Remy heard the distinct click of it. "We'll be going for dinner in a few hours, if you would like to go get some rest."

"How do y' do it?" Remy asked.

"Pardon?" asked the Professor.

"Do it all...havin' t' go through the humiliation of havin' people help you in and out of cars...and put your chair away and have to get it out for you...and checkin' that places have access for wheelchairs, and elevators and rails by toilets and low light switches..." Remy shook his head.

"I have no choice. I have to endure it."

"Y' never even _complain_," Remy remarked. He wasn't sure why he felt like saying this, but it had come out before he'd thought about it.

"What good would complaining do, Remy?" the Professor asked pointedly. "What would I actually _gain_? For a minute I might feel better having complained, but at the end of the day it doesn't change anything. The only person who can _change_ anything is _me."_

Remy sighed and got up slowly from the sofa, "which way to my bedroom?" he asked.

"Follow the wall to your left and you'll find the door," the Professor instructed.

As Remy found and fell onto the bed after making his way to his room, he stifled a groan of frustration into his pillow.

* * *

Remy awoke feeling groggy and confused; at first he assumed he might have dreamt they'd gone to Boston, but the comfort of the bed that made him feel as if he were floating on air and the soft fluffy pillow beneath his cheek told him that was impossible. Five star luxury couldn't be mistaken.

As he sat up and listened to the sounds of traffic outside and the faint sound of the Professor making telephone calls in the other room it occurred to him that less than twenty-four hours from now, he would know what the prognosis was regarding his sight.

He couldn't wait. He'd been nervously hoping time would speed up so he could get this over with, but now, all the same as it encroached he wished he had a little more time, he wondered if he _was_ ready.

Had Rogue been _right?_ Was he about to make a mistake?

_Just last minute jitters,_ Remy thought as he went about getting dressed for dinner.

Logan's whole speech the day before flooded in and out as Remy searched through his bag for his comb. The offer...Remy couldn't deny it was partly tempting, but...part of it just boasted too much trouble, and the life he didn't imagine himself living. Being near Rogue might be a benefit he supposed but perhaps that too just wasn't meant to be.

_If me and Rogue had been meant t' be...I wouldn't be here,_ Remy thought dully as he ran the comb through his hair quickly; he tried to imagine himself looking at a mirror. Styling his hair seemed rather pointless these days, he never knew how it looked any more.

His thoughts shifted to Rogue again, he wondered what she was doing; was she driving herself nuts thinking that she'd dreamed his coming into her room to save her from nightmares? Did she even care or had she moved on? The part of him that was hurt still wanted her to be bothered...if she was _bothered_ then it mean she _felt_ something.

_Stop thinking about it, there's more important stuff to deal with,_ Remy reminded himself as he felt his way around the bedroom to find the door into the suite's living room to ask the Professor help him pick out which shirt would be most appropriate for where they were going. Remy stopped in his tracks when he realised that the Professor was still on the phone.

"Did you check the Library?" asked the Professor of whoever was on the other end of the line; Remy wondered if from where he stood the Professor could see him standing there at the doorway of the bedroom. "No trace?"

Remy leaned there against the door frame, scratching the back of his head absently as he eavesdropped. He supposed he should have learned _not_ to do this. The last time he had he'd been hurt by broken promises.

"And when was that?" Professor Xavier asked of the caller, he momentarily listened, "And nothing was said?"

It sounded like something was up. Remy continued to listen, regardless if the Professor knew of his presence or not.

"Perhaps. It's not _unusual, _I suppose. We should have expected it..."

Remy smoothed his hair back from his face wondering if it at all looked presentable. Not that he really felt he should care anymore.

"Let me make a few calls to check – maybe I'll be able to find something out. I'll call you back."

Remy pushed himself away from the door frame and stepped into the room fully to make his presence known.

There was the soft beep of the cellphone being switched off, the Professor moved his electric chair and then said, "Oh, you're awake. That's good, I was just about to awaken you."

"Something wrong?" asked Remy, he pushed himself to sound more concerned than he actually was.

"No, it's fine," answered Professor Xavier; Remy heard a rustling of clothes, the Professor possibly pocketing his phone.

"I dunno what t' wear," Remy said, "I need help..."

"Of course," said the Professor; voice still polite but Remy still heard that slight edge to it.

_Not completely forgiven, then,_ Remy thought dully as he followed the sound of the Professor's chair into his room; he hit his shoulder on the door frame and he let out a huff of pain and tried to rub it away. The Professor was going through the suitcase that Logan had packed for Remy the night before (oh the complaint about packing Logan had made had not been pleasant).

"I'm sorry, by the way."

"Hmm?" asked the Professor suddenly.

Remy chewed the inside of his cheek, "y' know...'bout yesterday. 'Bout the way I behaved..."

"I know."

"Y' mad at me, though."

"I'm not _mad,_ Remy," the Professor's voice lightened a little, "just disappointed that you see us all as liars."

"I was jus'...frustrated."

"I understand."

There was a loud knocking at the main door of the suite; it was almost _insistent._

"Ah," said the Professor, about to move. Why did Remy feel like the Professor had _expected_ for someone to knock the door? Was he expecting a visitor?

"Lemme go," said Remy. "I need t' get used t' getting around this place anyway by myself. I'll be doing it for a while if all goes well."

"The door is straight ahead from the door of this room; just follow the wall," the Professor instructed.

"I got it."

Remy felt along the wall; the suite was larger than he'd realised and the time it took to get to the door almost seemed endless while there was yet another insistent knock-knock-knocking.

_"_Yeah! I'm coming!" Remy complained as he found the handle and turned it, he pulled the door open.

It came as a shock when instead of a voice, came the greeting of what felt like a slap with cold leather. It was hard enough to send his head snapping sideways and his face smarted immediately afterwards.

"You asshole!"

It was Rogue's voice. Her presence was surprising enough even _after_ the brutal slap. Remy winced and held his palm to his stinging cheek in complete and utter bewilderment. "What the fuck?"

"You jerk!"

"What did I do?" he demanded, "and why the hell are you even _here_?"

Remy felt Rogue pushing him aside so she could enter the room; the door slammed behind her. "You had me thinkin' Ah was goin' _mad!"_

He composed himself quickly and tried to play it cool, "I don't know what y' talkin' about."

"You stole my hair tie! Ah found it on your fucking nightstand!"

"So...y' came all the way t' Boston...t' bitch at me for findin' a hair tie on the floor and pickin' it up?" he rubbed his cheek.

"You couldn't have found that if you'd been _on_ the floor lookin' with both hands! So cut the shit! You took it out of my hair the other night when you _came to my room!_ You claimed it hadn't happened, that I had _dreamt_ the whole thing! Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Y' not the only one who can play _games_ with peoples feelin's, Rogue," Remy remarked coldly.

"What is going on?" demanded the Professor as he moved into the room, the motor on the chair buzzing as he approached. "Rogue..."

"Ah'm sorry Professor," Rogue responded immediately, sounding flustered.

"Come in! And close that door!"

Remy listened to Rogue's soft footstep upon the carpet, and the door shutting while he still rubbed his smarting cheek.

"What do you think you're playing at?" the Professor asked of Rogue.

Rogue gave low sigh but she apparently had no answer for him.

"Logan called, he looked everywhere for you, and right now is panicking because you just left without word," anger tainted the man's usually calm voice.

"She came t' slap me," said Remy, still trying to soothe the pain, "don' think I really deserved it."

"Yes you _did_," Rogue retorted, her voice full of upset. "And Ah would do it again!"

"No one will be doing _any_ more slapping," said the Professor.

"Sorry," muttered Rogue, sounding quite resentful of having to say it.

"Do you have any idea how _worried_ Logan is right now? Why did you not _tell_ him about this? Why did you not leave him a note?" the Professor's voice was sharp, angry.

"He was sleepin' when Ah left, Ah didn't wanna wake him. Ah figured he'd _know_ where Ah was goin', since he was the one who _told_ me to come here!"

"He _told_ you?" the Professor asked.

"Days ago," Rogue grunted, "ask him, he'll tell you."

"I'm going to go to the other room and make a phone call to him right now to tell him you're here and that you're _safe_. Please me civil in the meantime or I will have him come here to pick you up to take you back to Bayville himself."

The Professor left the room again, the door closing behind himself.

"How could you do that to me?" Rogue demanded once she was sure the Professor was completely out earshot. She could hear the muffled voice behind the door as the Professor made his phonecall.

"Why do y' think, Rogue?" Remy demanded, he felt around for the couch and found it. He sat down and folded his arms stubbornly across his chest.

"Because you want to _hurt_ me?"

"Bingo," he sang in a droll voice.

"Why! Because Ah changed my mind about comin' here?"

"Yes!" he yelled back. "I wanted y' t' know how it feels when y' losin' y' fuckin' _sanity! _Like I've been since the day this happened!"

"So that's it. That was what it was _all_ about. It was just about makin' me feel like _shit_. You came to me just so you could mess me around!"

"No!" he sat forward he held his head in his hands; why was it every time she used _this_ angry voice his head would throb as if long fingernails were gripping his brain from the inside.

"Then _what_?"

"I couldn't help it," he blurted frustratedly.

"You couldn't _help _it?" she demanded.

"I couldn' stand t' hear you _cryin'_ like that. Y' called my _name_ in y' sleep and I _went _t' y'. Y' needed me and I was _there_. I had t' be there...even _after_ what y' did."

"So why _lie_?"

"Because nothin' had _changed_! Y' still hurt me...y' never even took time t' say _sorry_."

"Ah never _said_ Ah wasn't sorry."

"Y' never said y' were," he hissed. "I heard what y' said t' Wolverine. 'Bout how y' didn't think _You_ could go through this if somethin' happened, if it all went wrong. It's all about how everythin' affects _you."_

_"_That's not true."

"Y' selfish, Rogue."

"Ah'm not selfish!"

"Yes, y' are."

"Is it selfish 'cause Ah don't want to see someone Ah care about make a bad choice? Is it selfish because it'd break my heart if Ah had to watch you get _bad news_?" her voice seemed to raise by several octaves, it sounded as if she might be tearful. "You said to me you couldn't stand to watch _me_ get rejected by Scott...how can you _not_ get that this is _ten times worse_? How can you _not_ get that this is tearin' me _up_?"

Remy pursed his lips tight together, there was a pain right between his eyes that was almost akin to eyestrain. Except he couldn't see, so it couldn't be that, could it?

"You say all this stupid stuff...about suicide and how your life would be over..." Rogue's voice broke in what sounded to be half a sob. "It scares me."

Remy lowered his voice to a mere whisper, "what was the nightmare about, Rogue?" he asked softly.

When she didn't answer, he felt the need to press further. He _should_ have asked on the night it had occurred, he should have asked why she'd screamed his name...why she'd cried out that he was dead.

"_Rogue,_ what was the goddamn nightmare about?"

He heard her swallow a hard lump in her throat, "you killin' yourself. And Ah can't save you..."

He wished he hadn't asked now. It hadn't occurred to him it would be that. It might have been anything else – him dying in battle, dying of illness, surgery going wrong. He'd never assumed it would be his flippant comments about _suicide_ that might have produced such heavy and terrifying dreams that would make her cry in such a way.

Before Remy could ask anything else, the Professor re-entered the room, "Sorry about that," he said, "Rogue, I see you've brought a bag so I assume you intend to stay..." he paused, "Rogue...are you _crying_?"

"No, Ah'm fine," Rogue sniffled, "just...Ah'm allergic to this makeup...Ah didn't know...Ah'll go wash it off..."

Somehow Charles Xavier didn't sound too convinced about this, but Remy heard the sigh as he decided to let it go for now. "Yes, please do. And wear something nice if you brought anything – we're going out for dinner. I'd appreciate it if the two of you could be civil during that."

"Of course," Remy and Rogue said in unison; Remy was confident the Professor couldn't have missed the strain in both their voices.

* * *

End of Part 19

* * *

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I had alot of good reviews (so many big ones, which are my favourites!). I've earned my rest now, so I'm off to go play with my new iPod touch 4G and all it's new fab features (yay, birthday present). Weee.

To **pointyearsrule**: I know it's not typical character for him but I needed him outside at that moment smoking a cigarette and I needed Remy to stand there with a cigarette so he'd be there long enough to hear the speech. It wasn't canon but then I don't think Evo Wolverine actually smokes at all? Oh well. It's only fanfiction, lol.

To **Muroun: **I never read the Daredevil comics (was aware of him though) but did like the movie. I vaguely remember seeing Jericho comics in a box of my uncle's comics about 16 years ago. I think there were a few other superheroes with disabilities/physical ailments/disease that never stopped them from their superhero-ish duties (wasn't Deadpool one? I forget.)


	20. Part 20

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 20**

**FAIR**

* * *

Getting through the first course of dinner felt uncomfortable and awkward.

Rogue had expected the whole trip to be like this; her heart had been racing since the moment she'd boarded the plane to Boston, and it hadn't stopped now that they were sitting in a five star restaurant eating food prepared by some of the best chefs Boston had to offer.

At the back of her head the hair tie Remy had stolen from her seemed to burn imaginary scars into her neck at the reminder of what he'd done. Had the hair tie she'd stolen from Kitty Pryde's room _not_ snapped, she wouldn't have had anything to do with the hair tie Remy had stolen from her. The only other option would have been to leave this shapeless thick mass of brown and white hair out to get caught in everything not to mention the pain of accidentally sitting on her own hair every time she took to a seat.

She gazed over the table to watch Remy as he ate his soup in small spoonfuls while he quietly listened to the Professor explaining tomorrow in detail. The Professor was relaying so much information that Rogue found it hard to keep up; what the examination might entail, the things he might be asked, the things that might be explained. Rogue drifted in and out, only noting that Remy looked extremely lost.

As angry and frustrated Rogue was with him, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the situation. He already looked like he regretted his decision, perhaps he was even having second thoughts? Was it too much to hope for?

_God, Ah hope he changes his mind, _thought Rogue as she ran her bare finger absently across the edge of her glass.

"Rogue, aren't you enjoying your pate?" asked the Professor suddenly. His expression was apologetic as if he were acknowledging the fact that the conversation left very little for her to add.

"It's fine," Rogue cleared her throat gently, "It's just a little rich."

"If you would rather go back to the hotel than stay through dinner, I can arrange the car to take you," he offered, his sharp blue eyes seemed to penetrate right through her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and understood how she felt. She supposed this wasn't surprising, he was after all a telepath...and her thoughts were probably crystal clear right now.

"Ah'm fine," she forced a smile, and made herself to take another bite of the thinly sliced toast and the rich pate just to appease him.

Rogue watched the Professor take a sip from his glass of white wine; it had surprised herself – and she'd noted the almost startled look on Remy's face too – when he'd asked of both of them during the ordering of the meal if they might think it was irresponsible of him to drink a glass of wine with his meal.

Remy had given a shrug; he probably didn't care what the Professor put down his throat, Rogue decided. But Rogue _had_ cared. It worried her that the Professor wanted alcohol with his dinner – even if it did come with the promise of it only being single glass – and she wondered if this was _his_ way of coping with the stress that was going to accompany tomorrow's consultation.

Rogue thought this as she reached over and drank from her virgin cocktail, the taste of pineapple, lime and coconut was sweet and at the same time tart against her tongue. She watched the Professor sipping very lightly from the glass – that glass had lasted twenty minutes and was just almost half empty.

_He's worried about tomorrow. Worried for Remy...worried what's going to go wrong, _she fretted.

The Professor's cellphone began to ring, and he gave a sigh as he put the glass down. "I'm sorry. I thought I had switched it off."

"Go answer it, it's fine," Remy responded, he swirled his spoon around in the soup he'd only half consumed.

Rogue watched the Professor take the cellphone out of his inside jacket pocket, and he checked the number.

"Ah, this is rather an important call..." he said, "please excuse me."

Rogue watched as the Professor wheeled off through a curtained arch at the other end of the restaurant. She sighed and tapped her fingers against the table top absently.

"Stop that."

"Hmm?"

"Bangin' y' fingers against the table."

She hadn't even thought there had been sound; it surprised her that Remy had noticed this but then, she supposed when a man lost his sight, it had to be made up for in other ways, like the heightened sense of hearing she'd heard so much about.

"Sorry..." she felt her cheeks grow hot and she placed both hands on her lap, she looked around her, taking the time to appreciate the beauty of the restaurant around her. Gold damask wallpaper, beautiful white cotton table cloths, and fine chandeliers. Deep gold swag curtains and lace adorned each window. The lighting was low and warm, and the background music was gentle and lulling.

Rogue picked up the Professor's glass and raised the contents to her nose to breathe in the smell of the alcohol. It smelt sweet but unappealing and she placed it back down upon the table in the same spot.

"He never drinks," she sighed.

"Y' gon' over analyse that?" Remy asked impatiently. "It's a glass of wine, not a double magnum."

Rogue stared down at the table uneasily, his tone made her feel like a child.

Remy drank from his spring water, his expression dull and tired, she couldn't see his eyes behind the dark glasses he was wearing but she could tell that there would be purplish smudges beneath each eye from barely sleeping. He seemed thoughtful for a moment then sighed and finally asked the question that she'd known was coming.

"Why did y' come here?"

Just because she had expected the question didn't make answering it any the easier. She hadn't rehearsed her answer. "You...you asked me to."

"And y' changed y' mind," he replied, pointedly, "so why change it again?"

She stared into the flame of the tealight in the deep red votive holder sitting in the centre of their reasonably large table.

"Or was it that y' thought y' could get here in time t' change _mine?_" he asked bitterly.

"Don't be stupid."

"Y'know, I think that maybe the only reason that y' don't want me to go is because y' don' want me t' get better. Y' want me t' be stuck so y' have a fall back plan."

Rogue shook her head at him in disgust, "you think I'm that desperate?"

"I think y' that _lonely,_" he retorted.

"Ah came here because Ah was _worried_ about you..."

"Y' came here 'cause y' were pissed at me and wanted t' yell at me. I hope the airfare was worth it, 'cause it's gon' be the last time."

She stared across the table at his grim face. "What are you _talkin'_ about?"

"I ain' goin' back t' Bayville. Once I get this consultation I'm goin' back t' the Big Easy..."

"But that's _crazy_...no one there cares about you..."

"No one cares about me here either, won't be much difference."

"That's bullshit, you _know_ Ah care."

"But y' don' love me."

Her stomach felt queasy and her lungs felt deflated. How was she supposed to answer this? "It wasn't _fair, _Remy. It wasn't _fair_ when you said you loved me! You don't _start_ a relationship that way!"

Remy sighed, his head inclined away so he wasn't even facing her direction anymore.

"You could have said you _liked_ me or that you were _fond_ of me, or that you even though _maybe_ I was cool! You do _not_ come up to someone who is mostly a _stranger_ and say you _love_ them! And you _don't_ expect to hear it back!"

"I didn' _expect_ t' hear it back. I knew when I said how I felt that y' were gon' act fucked up," he replied.

"Then why did you _say_ it?"

"Because I wanted t' be _straight_ with you!"

She laughed incredulously, "you wanted to be _straight _with me? You won't even tell me why you were in Bayville!"

"I was in Bayville because of you!" he slammed his hand on the table, the wine glass and his glass of spring water chinked together like a tinkling bell.

Rogue stared ahead at him, she pursed her mouth shut, anger flaring inside of her.

"Everythin' I've _lost_, I lost because of my feelin's for you! My independence, my freedom, my sight, my sanity, my future! Everythin'!"

"Don't give me that!"

"Y' don' believe me?" he demanded impatiently, "take that fuckin' _glitter_ to the Professor. Take it to Hank. See what they say. Then maybe y' get it! I'm _done_ okay? Just do it already and get this over with! I don't _care_ anymore!"

"Why don't you just _tell_ me what the glitter is instead of constantly leavin' me in the dark?" she demanded of him angrily.

He sighed, "because my feelin's for you have left _me_ in the dark. Maybe it's only fittin' that _you_ be left there too."

"I'm _sorry _about that," came the voice of the Professor as he approached from his cellphone call. He stopped at the table, picked up his napkin and laid it upon his lap once again.

"Is everything okay?" Rogue asked quietly, she tried to play off the argument with Remy.

"A local news station got wind of my visit here and is eager to interview me regarding my recent campaign for medical treatment for mutants," the Professor explained. "After the consultation tomorrow, I'll be appearing on television briefly."

"That's awesome," said Rogue.

"Got t' hand it t' y', Professor," said Remy, "Y' don' sit around and wait for things t' change', y' the one who tries t' change things."

Rogue had the distinct feeling that if Remy had _not_ been blind, he might have shot a look across the table right at her.

"Patience can sometimes be rewarding, Remy," admitted the Professor, "But someone my age can't afford to be patient," he forced a smile.

"I get that," said Remy, "I totally get it."

Rogue sighed and took another bite from her starting course.

"I want you to know," said the Professor, "that although I know things may seem rushed, I admire your decision to push to take this risk. You have a lot of spunk."

Remy, who had been drinking from his glass of water, suddenly choked and sputtered so that water splattered over the Professor and Rogue.

While trying not to choke on her mouthful, struggling to suppress a laugh, Rogue pushed her fist to her lips hard and tried to purse her lips tightly together, she imagined there to be glue holding them shut. If she laughed she was afraid she might cough pate and toast over the table and her dining companions.

The Professor looked between both of them both confusedly, "I'm sorry...did I say something...funny?" he raised an eyebrow.

Rogue turned her head trying to hide her smirk.

Remy gave a cough into his fist, trying to clear his throat, "uhm..."

"What did I do?" The Professor seemed thoroughly perplexed. Rogue had to wonder if he _really_ didn't understand what he'd said or how it had sounded. Was he really that dense or just too refined to have ever used the word in any other context?

"Maybe y' should rephrase that..." Remy suggested. "Maybe usin' a different word that doesn' have a double meanin'."

Professor Xavier frowned, still confused, then the look of realization dawned upon him and he put his fingers to his lips, "oh. Oh my..."

"I think y' may be the first _man_ t' ever admit that t' me..." Remy admitted, lightening the moment. "And if I didn' know the _way_ y' meant it...that would be so many different _degrees_ of _disturbing."_

Rogue couldn't contain herself, and after managing to swallow hard the lump of food in her mouth, she roared with laughter. Remy started too, although his was more of a wheezing laugh that sounded as if he may have lost his breath.

The Professor sighed and pushed the glass of wine, still half full, away from him. "And this is why I don't drink wine often..." he shook his head at himself in dismay. "I do hope you'll forgive me."

"Don't sweat it, Prof," said Remy. "It's the best laugh I have all month."

* * *

**End of Part 20**

* * *

Thanks to everyone for the reviews! I'll apologise in advance as the formatting is playing funny buggers with me on the preview screen tonight so if it shows up odd, I tried my best to correct it, but some alignments may be slightly off :(

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter...I know it's a little shorter than usual, but at least it's an update. Wee! Anyway, I'm off to go play Atlantica Online a bit before bed (mmorpg ftw). Happy reading!


	21. Part 21

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 21**

**SLIP**

* * *

The hotel suite's couch was comfortable, and she was sleepy and yet sleep would not come. Rogue could not help but toss and turn as she tried to settle and found it impossible. Her mind was too awake. She tried turning the large screen television on with the sound low for background noise hoping it would lull her to sleep but this didn't work; after watching two old black and white movies (one being a hilarious King Kong sequel made in 1933) she'd decided that she would not be getting any sleep tonight.

She pulled herself up from the couch, heavy limbed and exhausted, and padded barefoot over to large glass doors that led to the penthouse balcony. The street noise drifted up from below, and she leaned against the wall, gazing down at bright lights below as traffic moved through the busy streets; the last of the night life going home, the first of the early morning workers on their way.

Her stomach churned, it felt genuinely upset as though she'd eaten food that had long gone bad. But this wasn't new; it wasn't to do with the rich meal she'd eaten at dinner, nor was it to do with the fact she hadn't slept since the night Remy had come to her room. She'd been feeling this ever since hearing of Remy's decision...and as the days had worn on, the feeling had grown stronger with almost each passing hour.

She breathed in deeply, the air was cold and sharp in her lungs and as she exhaled, the white mist of her breath seemed to light up the night sky.

Despite her own sleeping troubles, she couldn't help but wonder if Remy was sleeping tightly in the comfortable bed of the suite's second bedroom, or if he was laying wide awake, not even realising his eyes were probably still open. What would he be thinking or feeling right now? Had he slept at all in the past few days?

_He looked so tired at dinner. Like he really hasn't slept in days._

It had been so hard to look at him that way. Remy had _always_ been undeniably good looking, but his tan had begun to fade, his hair looked oddly greasy and his skin seemed sallow and dry. This wasn't the Remy LeBeau she'd wanted to deny being attracted to. He wasn't Remy LeBeau anymore...he was just this broken person who was waiting for the last kick to finally be shattered completely.

_Ah don't want to be there when the last nail gets hammered into the coffin,_ she chewed her lip. _Ah don't want to see him break down, Ah don't know if Ah'm even _capable_ of helping him...Ah don't know if Ah'm strong enough to talk him out of anything or to hold him together..._

Rogue rubbed her head tiredly. _Get it together, you need to deal with this. He's right...it's not about you...it's about him. And as painful as it's gonna be you just need to get a grip and go through it. For _him._ That's the point of being here, that's why you came. He showed up when _you_ needed him, now you're here when he needs you...even __if he's pissed at you that he can't even pretend to look in your general direction._

How she wished she could have straightened things out with him at dinner; there hadn't been enough time and every time they were alone all they seemed to be able to do these days was argue. She wished she had the guts to ask the Professor to mediate between the two of them, but to ask this would admit there was a much larger problem than she wanted him to know about.

_Don't be stupid, he's a telepath. Of course he knows there's a problem, _she told herself, shaking her head at herself.

A sound at her back alerted her to the fact she was not alone; she turned and saw Remy at the glass doors; he'd banged into them.

"Remy..." she gasped, slightly startled. "What are you doin'?"

"Lookin' t' see where the fuckin' cold was comin' in," he uttered.

"Oh. Ah thought maybe you couldn't sleep," she confessed, one hand holding onto the wall.

"Well I'm _awake_, aren't I?" his eyes shifted all over the place as he tried to detect her generation location.

"Do you need anything? A *glass of water?"

"No. I told y', don' need anythin' from _you_."

"Stop actin' like a bitch," she muttered.

"Pot callin' the kettle black, non?"

Rogue rolled her eyes at him, "go back to bed, Remy."

"Don' tell me what t' do..." he felt his way about and found the balcony on his own. "Stop treatin' me like a fuckin' child."

"Then stop _actin'_ like one."

He stood beside her, although he didn't say anything else. He let his forearms rest on the balcony wall and he lifted his face to the air.

Rogue sighed softly and stared down into the traffic. "Are you really going to go back home to Louisiana?" she asked softly, hoping their moment of hostility had finally passed.

"Yeah," Remy answered coldly, "Jus' waitin' for the results of this appointment tomorrow, and I'm such a fuckin' _ghost_," his voice seemed to echo slightly in the night air. "In more than one way," he muttered under his breath.

"Stop _talkin'_ like that!" she ordered him angrily.

"Why?" he queried, a bitter yet oddly smug expression played around his lips, "it scare y'?"

"Yes."

His expression suddenly grew troubled; he hadn't expected her to answer that and the immediate concern about this was evident in his face. Rogue watched him for reaction. She decided to push it.

"It terrifies me..."

"How much?"

"You know how much, Remy..." she sighed softly, she turned away from him.

"Tell me," he urged; his voice softened.

"Ah don't want you to go."

"What difference would it make t' _anythin'_ if I did? What would change? It's the 'get out of jail card', Rogue. Y' get t' be _free of me_."

She shoved him suddenly, quite angry with this comment. "If Ah wanted to be free of your stupid ass, would Ah be here?"

He stumbled slightly, "Maybe. Maybe y' jus' wan' be free of the guilt," he steadied himself. "Maybe y' thought if y' came here than you get the consolation that y' did all y' could."

"No! That's not it at _all_!"

"Maybe I could make it easy for y', Rogue..."

Rogue gaped as he pulled himself up onto the balcony ledge, his bare toes curled over the edge of the wall, his arms out so he could balance. "Remy! Get down!"

"Why? Why get down! I'm doomed either way, no matter what I do. At least this way I'm out of y' hair a lot earlier than y' planned."

"Remy! Stop it!" she felt glued to the spot; reaching out to grab him might provoke him to make the jump. Yelling for the Professor might do the same. How did one diffuse these situations? No one had ever taught her how to talk down a jumper.

"Y' should be _happy," _he breathed heavily, "y' get y' _dream come true._"

"That's not funny!" she sobbed suddenly; images of his blood-drained body sitting against the wall came rushing back to her, and the memory of sticky blood staining her fingers. The panic came rushing back to her and her breathing quickened, her blood was racing and her heart felt almost as if it might burst in her chest.

"Death never is."

"Stop it!" Rogue screamed hysterically, she couldn't help herself from bursting into tears like a little girl. "Ah don't want to lose you..."

She wasn't sure what prompted her to admit this, but it had come out so suddenly that it surprised even herself. She gazed up at Remy through blurry tears, he had stopped to try and turn. That was his mistake.

His foot slipped on the slightly damp stone of the balcony; Rogue watched as he slipped and fell. She rushed to the edge of the balcony, shrieking his name, "Remy!"

He hadn't quite fallen completely; he'd managed to grip onto the outside wall of the balcony, there were deep ridges in the stone and his fingers had caught one further down near the very end of the balcony. He was dangling one handed there, his expression pained. She leaned down to grab for him, and then to her horror she discovered that both her hands were bare.

"Chere..." he rasped, his teeth gritted, his fingers white as he dangled with one hand from the spot.

"Pull yourself up!" she cried.

"I can't!" he gasped, "My shoulder..."

His arm was dangling awkwardly; she realised at once that he'd grabbed out with the right arm and dislocated the shoulder at the impact and had managed to somehow grab with his left hand before the complete fall.

Struggling to lean over without falling, she wedged her bare toes into a ridge on the inside of the balcony wall and doubled over, waist pressing right against the top, she stretched and grabbed onto his sleeve as hard as she could, but the fabric was stretchy and didn't give much purchase to her hold.

"Fuck!" she squealed. "Ah can't hold on!"

Remy swung his legs and somehow managed to get his bare foot against the bottom ridge in the balcony wall, and he tried to push himself up, the strain evident in his expression.

"Remy!" she gasped, using both hands she gripped hard at the fabric of his sleeve, trying to pull him further up, she got a hand under his elbow but he was slipping again. She came over the balcony further as he began to slide back down, she struggled to hold herself there, he was too heavy for her to pull and her slight weight was nothing compared to his bulk.

"Let me go!" he gasped.

"No..."

"Y' gon' fall too! I'm gon' pull y' over if y' don' lemme go!"!"

Her eyes caught the world below them, they were so high up that there was no doubt their impact upon the street would make a decent sized splat. She tried to focus, focus only on him and his wide open eyes as they stared blankly up at her.

"Ah'm not losin' you!" she gripped desperately at his arm, groaning in the pain in her back as she tried to hoist him further up the balcony.

"Let go!" he struggled with her.

"No! Ah can't lose you now! Pull yourself up, goddamn it! Ah know you can!"

His breathing was laboured, and his hair hung in his face as he struggled to use his one hand to hoist himself up to where she'd be able to pull him further. He was unable to do so; the injury in his arm meant he couldn't grip with his right arm and climbing one handed was impossible when he couldn't move it to grip further up the wall.

"C'mon you slacker!" she cried at him, "move your ass! You did _not_ come all this way to die like this!" her fingers were losing their grip on the cotton of the sleeve. Her knuckles ached with the strain and she pulled as hard as she could, she heard the cotton tearing and felt it stretching even more.

"I can't..."

"Stop givin' up! You're not a quitter!" she hissed at him, "Now get up here now!" she pulled harder, "Ah can't hold on much longer!"

"Then let me die!"

"Never!"

Rescue came in the form of an arm that came over the edge of the balcony and Rogue turned to see the Professor had pushed himself from the chair and managed to haul himself over the balcony, one foot locked beneath the seat to suspend himself. His grip was strong and he caught Remy's wrist and hauled hard with a grunt, pulling the boy up the balcony with difficulty but eventual success.

Rogue got a hold under Remy's arm and hauled too, and he slipped onto the balcony and fell to the floor with a soft thud as did Rogue and the Professor.

Gasping for breath, Rogue lay back against the cold tiles, glancing up at the cold black night, her breath misting quickly and disappearing. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt, her stomach ached where she'd been pressed against the balcony.

Remy groaned in pain, the dislocated shoulder causing him agony, his arm lay limp at his side.

"I don't know what is going on..." said the Professor, also struggling for breath, he pulled himself up and dragged himself to where Remy was to examine the shoulder that was causing Remy so much pain, "but I'm going to want a _full_ explanation."

"I can't move my arm," Remy said through gritted teeth.

"You've dislocated your shoulder," said the Professor.

Rogue slowly sat up, brushing her long hair out of her face, she said nothing, she felt too close to tears still to say anything.

"Lay still," the Professor warned Remy, "this will hurt."

She flinched and turned away as the Professor fixed the dislocated shoulder; Remy gave a sudden cry of "Motherfucker!" at the pain. It was the one time Rogue was sure the Professor wouldn't complain about the use of the foul language.

"Now..." breathed the Professor, "I want an explanation as to what just happened...and _why_."

Rogue swallowed nervously, but braced herself to speak.

But it was Remy who managed to get the word in before she did.

"It was my fault...I was gon' jump and I slipped..." Remy sighed, "and Rogue was tryin' t' stop me..." he lay still there on the floor, gazing up blindly.

Rogue wondered why he had taken the blame for her. She turned to look, his forehead shining with sweat, his chest still rising and falling fast. Was this going to be another one of his games? Or had he really wanted to spare her?

"I'd like you to help me to my chair, and then we are going to have a chat in private, Remy."

Remy let out a sigh, and Rogue watched as he hauled the Professor awkwardly up, directed to where the wheelchair was. She had the feeling their private chat wasn't going to be good.

* * *

**End of Part 21**

* * *

I apologise for the time it took getting this part out. Real life issues often get in the way sometimes. Thanks to everyone for reviewing and for messaging and urging for an update, I'm glad people are still interested in the story. Hopefully this chapter didn't put too many people off (somehow it wrote itself and I couldn't make myself change it!). As always, love you all :)


	22. Part 22

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 22**

**CHASING PAVEMENTS**

* * *

"_Therapy?"_

Rogue pressed her ear to the door of the Professor's hotel room; Remy's voice was louder than his and he sounded thoroughly distressed at what sounded to be the Professor's absolute and final decision. Rogue sighed to herself; she wanted to feel bad for Remy but she couldn't help but think he'd worked himself into the corner he now probably wouldn't be able to back out of.

"_I am _not_ crazy!"_ Remy was saying; Rogue could hear the sound of his pacing and she closed her eyes and focused on listening harder, wondering the Professor realised she was even on the other side of the door listening to them when she should have been trying to get back to sleep.

"_No one said you were, Remy,_" the Professor responded calmly. "_But your recent behaviour, the thoughts you've projected...the outbursts..."_

"_I don't need therapy! I just need to get my _sight_ back!" _he spat frantically; Rogue felt pangs of guilt and horror. She had _never_ heard Remy sound like this.

She held her breath to try and prevent even her own breathing from drowning out the sound of their voices through the door.

"_This decision is non-negotiable. If you want to go ahead with this consultation and any treatment, then you need to go to therapy. Mental health is _not_ something to mess around with, Remy."_

_"My mental health is _fine,_" _Remy replied forcefully. "_I'm right as rain."_

"_You tried to jump from a hotel balcony thirty floors up. You project erratic jumbled thoughts of suicide. Dark feelings of resentment and misery seem to follow you wherever you go. Would you class this as fine? Right as rain?"_

_"Y' want t' add t' my dark feelin's of resentment and misery?"_ Remy demanded defensively. "_That why y' tryin' t' force me t' do this?"_

_"Now, Remy...please calm yourself."_

_"What good is talkin' t' a fuckin' shrink gon' do? Y' know all it gon' do? Make me _worse._ All they do is talk about shit y' rather forget, shit y' had pushed t' the back of your mind and gotten over. All they wan' do is make y' relive it! All they wan' do is make you relive shit you don' wan' relive!"_

_"That's not what a therapist does."_

_"How many therapists did _you_ go t' see?"_

_"Many,"_ said the Professor. "_Going for therapy does _not_ indicate one has a diseased mind, Remy."_

Remy was silent; Rogue decided either he was thinking about things or he was behaving like a bratty child and ignoring the Professor entirely now. The silence gave her that moment to reflect if the professor perhaps _had_ seen therapists in his life. Had they helped? Would they really help Remy?

"_If you wish to keep this appointment tomorrow, then you will go see a therapist."_

_"That's Blackmail!"_ gasped Remy.

"_You may think that now, but perhaps in a few years you will come to understand how much I am trying to help you."_

_"By _forcing_ me t' do this against my will? This isn't _help_, this is...this is mind rape!"_

Rogue pressed her hand to her heart; why is it that the organ had refused to stop racing still? She was struggling to keep her breathing still and calm; if she stopped concentrating on it for any length of time her breathing was fast and heavy as if she'd been running for miles.

A knock at the door disturbed her from her eavesdropping and she began slipping away from the door quickly before the Professor could come out to investigate; she realised that she did not hear him approaching and that she would have to answer the door herself.

Rubbing her head, feeling somewhat groggy now from lack of sleep, she opened the hotel door expecting to find perhaps a hotel manager to give a warning about Remy's yelling possibly following a complaint from a neighbouring guest. Instead, she was utterly dismayed to find a rather annoyed looking Logan standing on the other side of it.

_Fuck,_ she thought unhappily as she stared to the floor.

"I'm not legally allowed to kick your ass," said Logan, "But if I could..." he frowned, "my foot would be so far up your ass you'd be choking on the laces."

Rogue moved away from the door and let him enter; the door slammed behind Logan and she realised he had very little disregard for anyone else's sleep at four in the morning. If a hotel manager hadn't come before now, it wouldn't be too long, she reckoned.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

"I was _invited," _said Logan, "you and I are booked into the suite across the hall. As far as the hotel staff knows, you're Charles' niece, and _my_ daughter. Got it?"

"Whatever..." Rogue folded her arms sullenly.

In the Professor's bedroom, there was muffled yelling; it sounded like Remy was getting more frustrated with the idea of therapy that the Professor was pushing for. Logan raised a thick eyebrow. "What's goin' on?"

"It's a long story." She didn't really want to talk about this right now...it was still too close to the bone. Unfortunately, before she'd even spoken she had already predicted what Logan's response was going to be.

"You think I got somewhere else to be?" Logan grunted. "So dish."

Rogue folded her arms, tears suddenly blurred her eyes quite unexpectedly.

"What happened?" this time, Logan softened his voice.

She tried to blink the tears out of existence, "Remy tried to throw himself off the balcony..." she swallowed, "we almost lost him."

"Ugh," Logan shook his head in disbelief, "stupid kid."

Rogue ran her now gloved fingers beneath her eyes to swipe at the escaping tears.

"Well, is he alright?" asked Logan.

"Yeah," Rogue sighed, she brushed her hair out of her face, exhaustion settling in, "he's goin' nuts cos he doesn't wanna go to therapy."

"Not surprising," said Logan. "So Chuck is gonna send him to therapy, huh? I guess I can see the logic there. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that kid's got issues."

"Most of those issues only started when he lost his sight," Rogue reminded with a sigh, she moved over to the couch and dropped herself down. "This is all my fault."

"Huh?" asked Logan. "What are you _talkin'_ about?"

"You _know_ what Ah'm talkin' about. This is _my_ fault. He's this messed up because of me..." more tears escaped, she swiped at them again angrily, this time with the back of her suedette glove, she had a feeling these gloves were going to end up soaked.

"Oh, c'mon now," said Logan as he approached, he sat on the coffee table and let his arms rest against his knees, "how can it be _your_ fault? If he's got _issues-"_

"Issues?" Rogue asked incredulously, "issues doesn't even come _close_ to describing how _fucked up_ he is!"

Logan's face darkened just a little at her language, but he let it pass.

"You didn't see the look on his face! He wanted me to _drop_ him! He wanted me to let him die!"

"Gambit's mind is the way it is for _a lot_ of reasons, none of which can be blamed on you. If he felt like goin' to do somethin' stupid like turn himself into a human beef burger on the pavement, then that's not _your_ fault."

"If Ah had just _come here_ in the first place..."

"You think it would have changed anything? You think your being here would have made him sane? The kid is two skinny-fries short of a Happy Meal, stripes, and nothing you could do would have stopped him. He's actin' out because of his condition..."

"No...we were arguin' before he did it..." she shook her head. "If Ah had just said nothin'...if Ah hadn't _answered back..._"

"He likes to pick arguments, Rogue. It's what he does. That boy could pick an argument in an empty room."

Rogue looked away, pursing her lips together tightly.

"What he's feeling, it isn't because of you," Logan assured, his tone firm but kind.

"What if he said it is?" Rogue asked.

"Huh?"

"He told me...this was all because of me...he said it himself. He was in Bayville because of me..." she pulled her knees up to her chest.

Logan sat forward a little more, he was definitely intrigued now. "What else did he say?"

Momentarily she thought about the red glitter. Was it finally time to tell Logan about it? Would _he_ know what it was? Should she take it out of her bag and show him it? She shook her head slowly to indicate there was nothing else. She had nothing else she _wanted_ to share at the moment. Besides...why incriminate him more when he was already about to go through so much?

"Nothin' else," she let her chin rest upon her knees.

Logan looked unconvinced, but for the moment, he seemed willing to drop it. "You look beat," he sighed, "why don't you grab your stuff and take the key to the suite across the hall...go get some sleep in a proper bed. We can talk in the morning...you'll feel better after some rest."

Rogue shook her head, "No. Ah won't be able to sleep now..." she sighed, "besides. Someone should be with Remy...to make sure he doesn't-"

"Look, I'll wait up and keep guard over him. I can stay up for days on end without it affectin' me much. I can get some sleep tomorrow."

Rogue gave in. She stood up slowly, and began to fold the blankets up neatly. Her eyes raised to the Professor's bedroom door as Remy stepped out looking frustrated and tired. Rogue couldn't help but feel his eyes looked distinctly glassy as if maybe he were close to crying...or perhaps it was just the infection making his eyes that shimmery way.

"Logan," said Remy at once, he straightened his posture a little, and tilted his head awkwardly as he hovered.

"How'd y' know?" Logan asked, a curious half-smirk on his face.

"You reek of smoke. Lucky bastard," Remy replied, he turned promptly and followed the wall to go to his room in the suite.

Rogue watched him leaving, her heart skipped unhappily. "Ah..." she began, she swung her gaze towards Logan for a minute and then looked back to the door.

"You need a minute? Fine. Make it fast."

She gave a vague nod and she slowly walked to the bedroom door which Remy had left half open. She wondered if perhaps the Professor had instructed this so he could listen for any peculiar activity such as getting up in the middle of the night for more strange behaviour.

As Rogue placed her hand upon the doorknob she noted the Professor coming out of his room to speak to Logan. She recognised the look on the Professors face at once; it said '_be quick_, _be civil'._

Remy was sitting on the edge of the double bed in the room, the lamp was off, but the light was spilling in from the suite's living area and cut across the room. She stepped in quietly and pushed the door shut behind herself. The room was dark other than the faint light from the other buildings outside which cast odd shadows on the walls and silhouetted Remy until he seemed nothing more than shadow.

Remy remained still and seemed to listen to her as she tiredly crossed the room and moved to the window to pull the drapes, plunging the room completely into blackness.

"What y' doin'?" he asked, he sounded barely interested. He sounded too tired and too raw to be bothered by anything else going on. He sniffled a little and she hastened the task.

"Closin' the drapes," she pulled the heavy drapes completely shut, making sure that not even a slither of light spilled in.

"Why?" he asked, his voice weak, slightly broken.

Rogue gave a heavy hearted sigh, and she stood, her eyes still teary, "so that Ah don't have to see you this way..."

Her knee hit the post of the bed and she ignored it as she felt her way across to where he was to come sit next to him on the bed. His breathing was deep and slow yet she could sense the sigh in each one, she could visualise each rise and fall of his shoulders and chest.

"Is it easier, now?" he asked, his voice low, barely a whisper.

Was it easier? No. It wasn't. She'd seen too much and felt too much and turning off the lights wasn't going to fix that. But she didn't have to see that look on his face and that _did_ help somehow, even if only a little. If he _was_ going to cry, she'd never have to see it, and if she had to see the look on his face as his mind broke for the final time, he would never have to feel the shame of letting her see that.

She wasn't sure who was supposed to be the first to really speak now...who was really supposed to be the first person to address all of this? She reached out to touch him and her hand in the deep dark blackness found his arm; she trailed her fingers down his forearm to his wrist, through the thinness of her suedette glove she felt the bumps of the scabs of his ugly wound, she felt the stitches, she felt the tension that told her his fist was clenched.

"He's gon' send me t' a psychiatrist..." Remy said, he swallowed hard. "A fuckin' shrink...a quack who gon' charge him for the privilege of tellin' him I'm _fucked_."

"Ssh..." Rogue soothed, her fingers found his tightly clenched fist and she forced his fingers open and twined them with his. "You're gonna be fine," she said.

"Y' said that before...look at me now..." he muttered.

She couldn't look at him now, perhaps that was the blessing at that moment. For that moment, if he didn't speak, he might have been the same charming boy, smart and funny and strong. She didn't have to see him as the wreck he'd become from his misfortune.

How was she supposed to fix him? How was _anyone_ supposed to fix him? She wasn't so sure a psychiatrist he had no interest in seeing was going to be able to do it for him, not that she doubted the excellent care mental health professionals offered. Remy wasn't the type to benefit from something like that. If Remy was going to be fixed, she couldn't do it, and a shrink couldn't do it.

_He_ was going to have to do it. He'd always prided himself on his independence...so it had to be himself who would fix everything and get his life back to where he wanted it, with or _without_ sight.

The problem was...how to get him to realise that when he had already given up? She'd tried so much already and he refused to listen. All he seemed to see this consultation tomorrow now as was a formality and not perhaps a stepping stone into getting himself back on the right track. A half-hearted, last ditch effort. That's all this was. Just one last kick at the ball before the final whistle blew. He wasn't motivated towards anything, he wasn't making his own waves any more, he was just being dragged along with the tide.

Rogue couldn't save him. That was what hurt the most. She had no idea how to help him help himself.

"If this all goes bad t'morrow..." Remy finally sighed.

"You'll get through it. C'mon, Remy, you're a _fighter_. You can do this."

"No...I can't. I don't got the _strength _t' fight this."

"Then draw on _our_ strength. We'll get you through."

"With psychiatrists and blind schools and white sticks?" he grunted.

"You know..." said Rogue, "Ah read in a magazine that somewhere there's this team of soccer players...and not _one_ of them has any sight. They play _soccer..._a sport that needs them to know exactly where this small ball is...and they play better than some of the world's best players..." she explained.

Remy said nothing, he sat there, his hand loosely holding onto hers.

"Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles, Andrea Bocelli..." Rogue reeled off. "All blind...all havin' professional music careers..."

"And what about people like _us,_ Rogue? What about people like _us_?" Remy demanded, "tell me one person who does what _we_ do while they're blind. Y'think there are blind people out there who can change the world like the X-Men do?"

"C'mon, there are guys who've climbed Everest and Kilimanjaro blind! People who compete in special olympics and win gold! Blind authors, blind politicians and activists, blind mathematicians and historians...maybe they don't do it with mutant powers, and maybe they aren't defeating Magneto and The Brotherhood like we do...but that _doesn't_ mean they don't change the world!"

"Rogue..." he sounded as if he were beginning to lose his patience now. She wasn't budging. Just because he was giving in didn't mean she had to.

"Listen," she said firmly, she swallowed a hard lump of nerves in her throat. "Ah'm not _gonna_ let you give up. You might have given up on fightin', but _Ah_ haven't."

"Why bother chasin' pavements, Rogue?" he asked stubbornly, he let go of her hand and he moved away from her, standing up and pacing away.

Rogue listened to his movements, she was sure he hit the wall judging by the soft 'ow' he let out. "Chasing pavements?" she asked.

"Chasin' pavements and getting nowhere."

"But you _are_ getting somewhere, Remy. You've come so _far._"

"It's been a month, nothin' has changed. I can't do shit for myself. I've gotten _nowhere_."

Rogue closed her eyes and concentrated on his voice in the darkness. Was this how it really was for him? It had barely been a few moments since she'd seen him in the living room area and yet already she forgot the exact shade of his hair...

As she remained there in the darkness, listening to him pacing awkwardly, his breathing uneasy, it suddenly came to her _what_ she had to say.

"Ah don't mean with bein' blind, Remy."

The moment she'd said it she knew it was right. He stopped in his tracks at once, and became very still, his breathing became incredibly silent. And yet, she sensed his hovering presence there near her as she sat primly on the bed trying to comprehend what was going on in his troubled mind right at that moment.

After what felt like may have been the world's longest ever silence, Remy drew a breath and asked, "are y' jus' throwin' me a bone so y' don' need t' feel guilty...or are y' sayin' that y' figured out how y' feel?"

Rogue folded her arms around herself uneasily, "Ah'm not there yet, Remy," she confessed, "Ah'm not _sayin'_ that Ah don't _feel_ somethin'...'cause you _know_ Ah do..."

"But?"

It took a moment for her to work out how to continue, "even if Ah _did_...y'know..._feel_ the way you feel..." she had to swallow that lump in her throat again, "there's not _much_ Ah can do about it. Nothin' can _change_. Maybe that _is_ why Ah liked Scott so much...Ah knew Ah couldn't have him...nothin' could happen so...it was safe...there was never any risk."

Remy didn't respond, he simply stood there, listening to her, and she felt more and more insecure as his silence progressed.

"You were right about me, Remy. Ah never try to change anythin'. Ah never take risks...that's why my situation never changes" she sighed, "but with _this..._with my powers...with _you..." _she bit her lip. "You know that there's no _choice..._the risk is too high...there _is_ no option. And because of that...nothin' can happen."

She heard him shift, and felt his hands grip hers suddenly in the darkness, it confused and yet pleasantly surprised her just how quickly and accurately he had located them in the darkness. He was on his knees, she was sure, and when he spoke his voice seemed to come from slightly lower than her.

"I refuse t' accept that," he said quietly, "y' don't want _me_ t' give up on my condition but y' feel willin' t' give up on _yours? _How can y' be such a hypocrite?"

"Ah'm not a _hypocrite,_ Remy. This isn't a condition, Remy...it's a _curse_. Your blindness only affects _you,_ sugar. My powers..." she trailed off, "they affect _anyone_ who touches me...and that _includes_ you..."

Remy gave a sigh, his fingers loosely gripped hers now.

"Ah nearly lost you on the balcony, Remy...all kinds of things have been goin' through my head since the moment we got you safe..." she admitted.

"Like?" he asked softly.

"What would Ah have _done_ if Ah had lost you? How would Ah have coped? How could Ah _begin_ to-"

He squeezed her fingers, the gesture made her stop.

"Remy..." she sighed deeply, "Ah can't give you anythin' but my _friendship._ Ah don't have much more than that to give..."

"I know that."

"Ah can't give you what you need..." Rogue shook her head in dismay at him, "so _why_ would you want to _be _with me?" she demanded. "Don't you get it...if you be with me...you'd still be...what was it you called it? Chasin' pavements? You'd _still_ be chasin' pavements...if you can't do that with _this_, how could you do that with me?"

"Some day maybe y' gon' understand," he responded. "I'm dog tired, Rogue. I need t' get t' bed...need t' get some sleep before this appointment...not got long 'til got t' get up now, I reckon."

"Alright," she sighed. As she left him in the room on his own, she had to wonder if he would be all right during the night...or if it would be the last time she might ever hear his voice.

* * *

End of Part 22

* * *

Ah, it's been a little while since I updated (59 days apparently!). Oops. I humbly apologise and hope that people are still interested in the story. Thanks to everyone who has PM'd and reviewed begging for updates. I know it's been a while but some real life stuff got in the way as it so often does. Hope everyone is having an awesome summer! I'm looking forward to hearing from you all 3 Thanks in advance to anyone who reviews. I love you all 3


	23. Part 23

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**PART 23**

**Doctor, Doctor**

* * *

"You have very unusual eyes, Mr. LeBeau."

Remy hated the feeling of his eyes being manipulated, eyelids being pulled, drops being applied, constantly being asked if he felt any particular sensations, or saw anything, light, shadows, anything significant other than just blackness. He'd already been through this several times with the Professor and Hank McCoy since the day of the incident which had left him this way and it was still uncomfortable.

"Tell me somethin' I don't know," Remy uttered miserably in response to the comment. Remy leaned back in his seat as the doctor – Doctor Lain – pried his eyelids apart. Something was cold and uncomfortable

"What's that?" came Rogue's curious query from somewhere else in the room. Remy felt she was slightly off to the right and in a corner judging by how the sound seemed to bounce.

"It's an anaesthetic sponge," replied Doctor Lain.

"Rogue, please," the Professor said quietly.

Remy listened to Rogue apologizing while he blinked – or so he assumed – to try and adjust to the feeling of whatever it was the doctor had put into his left eye. It was uncomfortable and felt as if someone was prodding at his eyeball.

"It should take a moment or so," said the Doctor.

"What's it gon' do?" Remy asked, he couldn't force himself to sound interested today. He felt sick, and tired, and he wanted this to all be over. He hadn't been able to deny the moment he had arrived at the Doctors office he had wished he could just turn back.

"It'll dull the pain a little...Hold still please."

"Pain from wha—OW!" There came a sudden pinching feeling that made him cry out in pain. "Ow! What the fu-"

"Sick," Rogue said in a whispered hush, sounding thoroughly entranced by what was going on in the room.

"It's a needle," explained the Doctor sounding vaguely distracted. "Please be still...this needle is very delicate and can snap."

"Christ..." Remy gritted his teeth.

"In a few moment, you might feel an ache right behind your left eye..." the Doctor instructed, there was a pulling on his eye that made Remy's eyes water, and something damp pressed against his eye immediately after the pulling subsided. "Hold this to your eye," ordered the Doctor.

"What's the needle for?" Rogue asked.

"Rogue," the Professor warned.

"It's fine, Mr. Xavier," said the Doctor. "It's only natural for there to be questions."

"Am I gon' be able t' see again?" Remy sighed holding the compress to his pained eye.

The Doctor paused, and it seemed not only Remy was on edge waiting for the response he would give.

"So far, from my examination, I can say with certainty you're an excellent candidate for the treatment," Doctor Lain admitted. Remy felt him hovering somewhere to the right and he felt uncomfortable having the man stand over him in this way. "I've taken some samples just to be sure that my treatments won't have any adverse effects."

"So what now?" Remy asked uncomfortably. He'd been here for a good half hour and he already felt that was a good twenty-nine minutes too long.

"I'll test the samples, and check for side-effects, and in a few days I'll be able to offer more information and advise you on what you can expect to happen."

"So I'll be able t' see if it works?"

"Please understand," said the Doctor, sounding rather tired himself, "that the success rate of this treatment is only twenty-nine percent. While in the medical world, this success rate is huge, it does _not_ guarantee anything. You may get _no_ vision back, you may obtain some."

"Anyone ever get it _all_ back?" Remy asked irritably.

Judging by the Doctor's reluctance to answer, that was a definite no.

"What's...the best result you've had with this treatment?" Rogue spoke up.

The Doctor seemed to ease up just a little, "one patient gained back sixty percent of her vision, but only in one eye."

Right now, as much as Remy wanted his _complete_ vision restored, the thought of even getting sixty percent of vision back in at least _one_ eye seemed promising. At this rate, any sight was better than a life of permanent blindness.

"Now," said the Doctor, he shifted and it sounded as if he had sat down. Remy heard the clicking of something, had he placed something down on the desk? A ruffle of papers, the sliding of a drawer. Clicking of something else. "My initial tests seem promising, and as I mentioned, I think you would be an _excellent_ candidate for this treatment," he explained. "However, we should discuss the risks."

Remy felt a knot in his stomach; ah, yes, the risks. He'd known this was coming. He'd been preparing himself for days to hear all about those risks. Nonetheless, preparation didn't make the initial shock of the subject being brought up any less jolting.

"You...are aware there will be risks?" asked the Doctor.

"It was mentioned t' me," Remy crossed his hands in his lap idly, the compress between his fingers now as it didn't seem to really be helping with the eye the doctor had just injured with his tests.

"Most treatments come with risks," said Doctor Lain, "and this is no exception. The treatments themselves don't cause much damage really in the _long term,_ there _can_ be side effects in future If your vision does return," he reeled off, he shuffled more papers.

"What kinda side-effects are we talkin' here?" Remy chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Well, your sight can also begin to diminish once. Other side effects include colour-blindness, cataracts and glaucoma. If these conditions present themselves after you've gained sight back, they won't react to any further treatments, surgeries or medications as the treatment in a manner of speaking _mutates_ the way the eyes work...and the way they respond to treatment."

Remy felt a dip in his stomach as if he'd just been turned upside down on a rollercoaster. There was an odd silence in the room, and Remy wished he could find it in himself to break it, but he couldn't muster up the strength.

Thankfully, it was Rogue who had the power to do so. Of course it would be Rogue. Rogue, his fierce little rock (albeit an unsteady one). "What chances are of all this?" she asked, "and how do you know for certain that these things could happen?"

The Professor let out a soft sigh as if he were wishing he had not brought Rogue with them, but to be fair, she had asked the right question and Remy couldn't fault her and he wouldn't have asked her to wait outside regardless of her constant questions.

"Well," Doctor Lain said, sounding slightly put-upon that she would even ask, "this treatment is a relatively newly licensed treatment, but it's been under testing for the past fifteen years. Several of the initial test subjects did gain back partial sight. Some of them now are starting to show symptoms of the conditions I've mentioned."

"So what are the _chances_ this is goin' to happen to Remy?" Rogue asked again.

Doctor Lain sighed this time, "the success rate of this treatment, as I mentioned is twenty-nine percent-"

"That's not what she asked," the Professor spoke this time, he sounded slightly miffed and Remy understood why. The Doctor was trying to side-step the answer.

"Fifty-eight percent of the test subjects did have complications in the following years..."

"I'm sure you would agree," said the Professor calmly, "that this number _is_ rather high."

Rogue sounded upset now, it seemed that she had gotten up and was pacing, Remy heard the distinct creak of leather; was she wearing leather pants? "So You're not only sayin' that the chances of failure are _much _higherthan the rate of success...but that the chances of him _still_ endin' up blind even of this _does_ work is _even higher_..."

Remy chewed on the inside of his bottom lip as he listened to Rogue. It was odd how her concerns seemed so much more _reasonable _now than they had days ago. Was she really right about all of this?

"It's very unlikely in a patient as young as Mr. LeBeau, here. The patients I have treated were much older, much closer to sixty than twenty," the Doctor explained.

"So you've _never_ treated anyone young before? So you don't _know _if those things could happen or not to someone his age, right?" Rogue demanded quickly.

"I..." the Doctor hesitated, then finally gave in, "Yes. Which is why I have to advise about _risks_ before proceeding with anything."

Remy lowered his head, he the last of his confidence was beginning to trickle away into nothingness. Minute by minute the last few drops of hope he'd had were evaporating in the intense heat of a doctor's prognosis.

"Perhaps we should wait, Professor," Rogue remarked, sounding bitter.

"I beg to differ," said Doctor Lain, "Mr. LeBeau is an excellent candidate and stands a very good chance at regaining some sight. This type of injury is _very_ difficult to treat, but we have the means here to do so..."

"Yeah, but at a _cost_," Rogue spat, "You wanna charge the Professor a fortune to irrecoverably damage Remy's eyes!"

"Miss..." the Doctor faltered, he didn't know what to call Rogue.

Rogue shifted from where she stood, Remy felt her grab his hand and she tugged his arm to pull him to stand too. "This is bullshit," she hissed.

"Rogue!" gasped the Professor.

"No," Rogue refused to accept his scolding at this particular point. "Professor, Ah _know_ you're only tryin' to help Remy, but this...this is a _scam_...this quack can't fix Remy's sight, he just wants to make a quick buck _promisin'_ he can!"

Remy's hand weakly held onto Rogue's in his impenetrable darkness, there was pain behind both eyes, more noticeably in his left from where Doctor Lain had jabbed the needle right into his eye.

"I only get _paid_ if my further tests prove to be positive and he is eligible for treatment," Doctor Lain snapped.

"Yeah, and Ah'm _sure_ you'll make sure he's eligible."

"Miss, I would advise you to let me do my job. I understand your _concern_ but-"

"I'm afraid we have another appointment to go to," said the Professor all too quickly, and Remy felt immediately relieved that they would be leaving now.

"I have your number, and I will call you once I have the results. Then we can make arrangements from there," Doctor Lain stated, he sounded calm once.

"Thank you for your time, Doctor Lain," said Professor Xavier, sounding all to uneasy. Remy couldn't deny he felt that same unease now too.

* * *

**End of Part 23**

* * *

Wow is it really part 23 already? Feels like barely yesterday it was part 2. Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. It's nice knowing you're still out there and that the story is still being read. I probably made a few errors in this with percentages (I failed math horribly) but hopefully it can be overlooked. It's just a story after all *hides*. Love you all! Hope you're all well! Hope you're all having fabulous a fabulous Summer!


	24. Part 24

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 24**

**Red**

* * *

Rogue stared through the large window out at the snowy street. Car windshields and hoods were caked in white, a murky mush lurked at their wheels; a mess of footprints trailed across every pavement, mingling into each other as if some hundred-footed monster had passed by. Across the street, a modern building with mirrored glass reflected a distorted version of herself sitting in the coffee house. Somewhere behind those large mirrored windows Remy was sitting in a therapist's office talking about his feelings...

Or not.

"Why is it I can't get a decent cup of joe anywhere these days?"

Rogue turned her eyes towards Logan, he was gazing into a cup of coffee that had just been brought to the table. She hadn't even noticed the hot chocolate she'd ordered was sitting in front of her, the mound of cream dusted with cinnamon reminded her of the snow and the dirt outside.

"I ordered a coffee, they bring me 90% hot milk in a soup bowl with a handle and a dinner plate as a saucer..." Logan frowned.

"You need to be more specific," said Rogue, "you should have ordered an Americana."

"I don't want an Americana. I want a good old cup of black coffee."

"That's what that is."

"Then why the hell don't they just call it that?" he sipped from the latte, then brushed the foam from his top lip. Rogue got the vaguest sense drinking fancy coffee drinks from designer coffee houses made him feel emasculated.

She glanced back to the building opposite the coffee house as she dipped her long handled teaspoon into the tall glass of hot chocolate and swirled it around.

"He'll be fine," Logan assured, as if he had read her mind. "Chuck is with him."

Rogue sighed, "He'll be mad."

"Probably. But that's normal. For him, at least."

"He's so angry these days," Rogue admitted softly, "He...he was never like that. He never used to be angry."

"Never?"

"Ah've been in his head, he used to get angry like normal people but not...not the way he does _now_...not this...frantic mess of mad that he always seems to be."

"You're not in a great position to be commenting on his anger, Rogue. You've been pretty angry yourself, lately."

"Ah'm angry 'cause he's angry."

"What's happened to him is a big deal. It'll take time to deal with it. He'll be angry for a good while. Then he'll accept it."

"Do you think this doctor can help him?"

"Maybe," Logan shrugged, "I'm not a doctor and I can't tell the future. I got guts and instincts, and they both tell me that if he stops fightin' us, and deals with this head on, he'll adjust and find peace with it."

"Ah know that, Logan, but_ he_ doesn't wanna know it."

Logan scratched his cheek absently, "He can't be constantly told it. He needs to get it for himself. And he will, he'll get that without your constantly pointing it out. I promise."

Rogue stared across at Logan. Why was it he suddenly looked so suddenly guilty. "What is it...?" she asked.

"Nothin'..." he shook his head and stared down at his cup.

"Oh come _on_..." she stared down into her hot chocolate as she spooned out some cream and put it in her mouth.

"The Professor and I had a talk this mornin'," Logan began, "About you and Gambit."

"Huh?" she raised her eyes to him, a little stunned.

"You two...it's like chemicals and fire...a little explosive. We don't think it's good...for either of you."

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes, "We're not that bad."

"I dunno," Logan sighed, "whenever you two are in the same room, the tension is so thick I probably still couldn't cut it with my claws," Logan extended a claw sneakily and smacked it against the handle of his coffee cup so that it fell off. Rogue watched as he picked the coffee cup up and dropped it on the edge of the table so it shattered, spilling the coffee on the floor.

"Logan, what the fu-" she began, staring in dismay as he retracted the claw quickly.

The waitress who had dealt with their order rushed over at the mess, looking shocked.

"The cup just fell off the handle! Look at this..." Logan gestured to the broken cup and the coffee.

"Oh my god...I'm so sorry..." the waitress – who seemed to be no older than Rogue – accepted the cup handle from him, "I'll get you a fresh cup..."

"Do you suppose I could just have an _Americana_ this time?" Logan asked hopefully.

"Of course...I'll be right back," the waitress said breathlessly and she dashed off.

Rogue glared over at Logan, "that was mean."

"She should have asked me what kind of coffee I wanted in the first place."

"I hope that broken cup doesn't come out of her salary."

"I'll tip good," Logan wiped his coffee splattered hands on a napkin. "What was I sayin'?" he asked.

"You were sayin' you think Remy and me should be kept apart," Rogue frowned.

"Oh yeah," Logan tossed the napkin onto the table, "I do and so does Charles. So we've decided it'd be good for you both to be seperated. You two get together and somethin' seems to happen. Seems like the less time you spend together, the better he seems to do."

"Oh come on! Are you sayin' Ah _cause_ it?"

"No, of course not," Logan raised a bushy eyebrow, "I'm sayin' that...you're incompatible as friends. Some people just can't get along...s"

"You were the one who _forced_ me to do this! You were the one who told me Ah had to help him! Now you're tellin' me I need to _abandon_ him?" Rogue gasped.

"It's getting too serious, Rogue. Too complicated. You and him are goin' down a _really_ bad path. A very _destructive _path that you're too young to be dealin' with at this part of your life."

"You were listening at the door!" Rogue suddenly realised. "You heard what me and him were talkin' about last night!"

"I can't help but hear things from time to time, Rogue. And you thinkin' about havin' romantic relationships with him is _not_ a good step to take right now."

"Ah know that. Ah _told_ him it was a bad idea."

"Yeah, I heard that," Logan admitted, "But you also gave him the idea there might be a _chance_. You can't give the guy hope then take it away."

"That's not what Ah did," Rogue objected.

"Not only that," said Logan, "But you're also interfering."

"How?"

"The Professor told me you went off at the doctor during the consultation. You tried to talk him out of coming here. You don't get it, these are _his_ choices to make, not yours. You've been told time and time again. You can only give him options, you can't _make_ him choose one. His choice, not yours. We can't make it any clearer."

Rogue bit into her tongue momentarily as she thought about the situation, "fine. Then lets just say this. Either Ah can_ stay_ and help Remy, as Ah originally promised Ah _would_. Or Ah can leave because everyone _else_ thinks it's what Ah should do. Seems like Ah have two options here...but you can't _make_ me do either of them. My choice, not yours."

"This is different, Rogue..."

"How? How is it different?" she demanded, raising her voice. She lowered it again just as the waitress arrived with the coffee and a mop and bucket. Logan and Rogue said nothing to either, just waited as the waitress quickly picked up the pieces of broken cup, mopped up the mess, then left again.

"I'll tell you how it's different," said Logan curtly. "You're still a student, and the Professor has guardianship over you until you're eighteen. As far as the law, he says what goes."

Rogue looked away.

"If we didn't think it'd be good for you...we wouldn't do this. But it's the best decision. Time apart will help things get back on track for you. Your school work is worse, your training is going downhill, you're not sleeping and eating right. You're stressed out all the time...can't remember the last time I saw you smile for real."

"How can Ah eat and sleep...look at what's goin' on, Logan..." Rogue felt tears sting the corners of her eyes.

"That's just it. You're too involved in his life...and you're getting more and more detached from your own. Rogue, the Professor will take care of Remy, don't you trust that?"

"Logan...if Ah hadn't been there last night...what do you think would have happened?"

"I don't know. I don't want to think about it and you shouldn't either. Drink up your hot chocolate. It's getting cold."

Rogue sipped from her hot chocolate unhappily. It seemed to taste bitter regardless of the sugar in it. Perhaps it had been tainted by Logan's admission.

"We're leaving in the morning."

Her eyes met with Logan, "what?"

"In the mornin'. Flight leaves at seven am. And when we get to Bayville, you'll sever _all _ties from him. At least until he makes some kind of progress with his treatment and his therapy..."

"You want me to abandon him _and_ just ignore him? Never call...never _write_?"

"He can't read."

"The Professor could read letters to him, the Professor could _reply_ to me for him..." Rogue tried.

"No...again, you're missin' the point, kid, you need to be focusin' on your own life. You've spent a month focusin' on his and it's doin' you no good."

"But..."

"It's not up for negotiation, Rogue. It's all set. The Professor will tell you both at Dinner tonight, but I thought I'd give you a heads up so you don't cause a scene and embarrass yourself in front of the Professor or Gumbo. Until then...you and him are to remain in your _own_ rooms and not be alone together...we don't need another repeat of last night, got it?"

Rogue stared down at the table sadly, "got it."

Logan raised his cup to his lips, seeming to feel better about the conversation. He sipped, then lowered the coffee and smirked, "now that's good coffee."

* * *

Remy LeBeau had been listening to the clock ticking somewhere to the back of the room for most of the hour. A loud, definite ticking that suggested the clock was old, real cogs, a real pendulum, not some battery operated thing for a dollar ninety-nine from Walmart.

He hadn't asked, nor had he felt around, but he got the sense that the room was exquisite. There was that pungent aroma of beeswax furniture polish; the expensive kind that cleaners used to polish up antique wood. He knew that smell well; in his time as a Thief he'd broken and entered into many mansions, penthouse apartments and stately homes with fine furnishings that smelt just like this.

Just like the room, he could sense the 'therapist' (he was always unsure of the difference between therapist and psychiatrist, and to be honest, he had forgotten which of the two this woman was already) was a fine lady. Her voice had that hint of New England in it, and her perfume was expensive, he was almost certain it was Chanel.

Although he couldn't see Dr. Sinatra (apparently of no relation to the now deceased crooner as she'd introduced herself she'd thought to mention this fact) he could tell she was laid back, the kind of woman who idly swung around in her seat while listening, probably the kind of woman who listened to jazz and wore Italian stilettos.

He was growing tired of the appointment. He'd been cooperating for the most part because he was afraid of missing out on the chance to receive the treatment that might give him his life back, but his patience was beginning to thin rather quickly.

"From what you've told me, Remy," said Dr. Sinatra, a soft exhale seemed to escape her nose, "I've summed up that you feel that your sight...defines you."

He snorted; it had taken nearly an hour for her to come up with this? After having him explain the accident, his feelings, his frustrations, how helpless he felt? Oh yeah, Therapy was going to be a marvellous help to his problem. "Go on," he urged.

"And you feel you can no longer continue living life in the way you once did without your sight?" she asked.

"Could you? Could y' defend y'self if someone took a swing at y' in the dark and y' didn't know which direction it was gon' come from? Could y' save someone y' cared about if y' didn' know what was goin' on around you?"

"Perhaps..."

"Okay," Remy agreed, "but what if y' got hit in the head...what if y' got a _tumour _in y' brain...and y' lost part of the brain that makes you _you_. What if y' lost the part that makes it possible for y' t' be Miss _Smarty-pants_, if y' couldn't work...if everythin' y' spent y' whole life _workin' _t'wards was snatched outta y' hands because of somethin' that was out of y' control?"

"I agree, I might be angry, but I would eventually accept that anger will never resolve anything. Acceptance is the first step to adjusting and getting on with your life, Remy."

"I don' _wanna_ accept this fucking thing! I can't _live_ like this!"

"Many people are-"

"I've heard that lecture. Soccer players, musicians, mountain climbers, olympian athletes, I know there are blind people who succeed. I know that," Remy uttered. "But those are people with _goals._"

"You don't have a goal in life?"

"Mutants don' get the luxury of a goal in life, doc," Remy retorted. "Low survival rates, high chance of incarceration for the accidental maiming of a civilian, the accidental destruction of property..." he reeled off. "The goal is t' stay alive as long as y' can."

"This doesn't sound like the goal you had last night. You tried to throw yourself from the balcony of your hotel room. That isn't a goal of staying alive."

"Trouble gon' find me anyway, why not jus' make it easy and do myself in, eh?" he chortled darkly. "I got nothin' t' live for anyway."

"That's not true. What about the girl you mentioned?"

Remy sighed, "What about her?"

"Isn't she worth living for?"

"She don' _want_ me. I guess it isn't important anymore anyway."

"She was important enough to mention," Dr. Sinatra reminded.

"I was cooperating. I was told if I didn' do this crap I couldn' get my treatment."

"Tell me about the girl."

"What about her?" he asked again.

"If you care for her-"

"I more than _care. _I'd off myself if I thought it was gon' make her life easier."

"Was that what was going through your head when you tried to jump?"

"I don't know _what_ was goin' through my head," Remy shrugged, "too many things t' understand."

"But what _was_ going through your head was that you should jump? That it would make the girl's life easier?"

"Looks t' be the way things are goin'. I know I'm ruinin' her life but...I can't keep away from her. Offin' myself would be the best solution for us both. I make a decent sized splat on the sidewalk, and she can get on with her life."

"You talk about death so...easily."

"Like I said, not like I got much t' live for at this stage."

"I wouldn't say that," Dr. Sinatra tried again.

"Sometimes I think it's a shame I never got t' make much of an impact on the world, but what I did do, I didn' regret it all that much."

"Apart from being blinded," Dr. Sinatra replied. Remy had the distinct impression by the jingle that followed that the woman was wearing large dangling earrings that jingled like bells when she moved.

"Y'know...it mighta been worth it...I might not regret it if..." Remy squirmed awkwardly in his chair, "if things had _worked_ the way there were supposed to. Instead I got blinded and nothin' changed."

"How were things supposed to work?"

"It don' matter anymore. What's done is done, nothin' gon' change anymore."

A buzzer went off in the room, and Dr. Sinatra sighed, "I'm sorry, your time is up for the moment, and I have another client to see."

Remy clamped his mouth shut, he was glad to be shot of this. He didn't want to be talking about himself anymore, an hour of it had been more than enough. He wondered if even half of it had actually been absorbed. Remy stood up, he heard a bang and he realised he'd knocked the chair over.

"Don't worry," said Dr. Sinatra, she came to his side, and he heard the click of her stilettos on the hard wood floor, "I'll take you to the lobby, your father is waiting there."

"Professor Xavier isn't my father," said Remy as he was led out by the elbow. He hated that feeling, like he was being escorted from the premises for bad behaviour.

In the lobby, there was a phone ringing, someone talking in the background, and it sounded like someone was playing with a hand held game console or a game on their phone. Remy was led to where Xavier was, he walked into the side of the wheelchair, he felt his sneaker bang against the side of the wheel.

"Sorry," Remy mumbled unhappily, he realised perhaps it should have been Dr. Sinatra who should have apologised as she had walked him right into it.

"Professor, if I could have a discussion with you, momentarily..." said Dr. Sinatra softly.

"Remy, wait here, I shall not be long," said the Professor calmly.

Remy listened to the sound of the electric wheelchair descending down the hallway from which he'd just came, and of course, the steady clicking of Dr. Sinatra's heels. He sighed and leaned into the wall, having not thought to ask for a seat. He pushed his dark glasses up his nose a little to make sure his mutant eyes were hidden from the people in the waiting room; he listened to the sound of the pages of newspapers and magazines being flicked through, and the sound of someone blowing their nose.

He felt a tugging to the left of him, something was pulling on his shirt.

"You're all dark..." said a voice, a child, very young, the 'r' in words was more akin to a 'w' but Remy understood the kid had a slight speech impediment_._

"Huh?" asked Remy, confusedly.

"All dark...red...like blood," said the voice; Remy couldn't be positive but he was almost sure it was a young boy. Perhaps of about five or six. He tried to make up a picture in his mind of what that voice was attached to.

"What are y' talkin' about?" he asked. "What'd y' mean 'red like blood'..."

"It's all around you..." whispered the boy.

Remy slowly crouched down so he could hear better. "What is?"

"The _badness_._"_

"What badness?" Remy raised an eyebrow – at least he thought he did.

"The r_ed_."

"Colin!" came a gasp, an angry mother apparently, sweeping the child away, "what have I told you about talking to strangers?"

Remy frowned a little, "I wasn' gon' hurt him..."

The woman said nothing in response to him, but as she was moving away to the other side of the large waiting room, he was sure he heard her saying under her breath to her son "_what have I told you about scaring people like that?_"

Unsure why, Remy felt chills in his spine. He tried to shake it off for the moment. He had more important things to worry about right now.

* * *

**End of Part 24**

* * *

I'm surprised at my own motivation to post two parts in one night! Woo! Updates galore! Thank you so much for all the thoughtful reviews, it's really interesting finding out what you think. Some of you agree with Rogue's reaction to Dr. Lain, and some of you don't - which is interesting! :D Anyways, I'm off to watch an old Audrey Hepburn movie, so this is it for tonight I think. Thank you again! Love you all :) 3


	25. Part 25

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 25**

**Kiss of Death**

* * *

Rogue stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room; the fan attached to the ceiling light twirled, casting patterns with the faint light filtering through the blinds at the window. The mattress was comfortable, the sheets were fine Egyptian cotton, the pillows fluffy. Strangely, though, she didn't feel comfortable.

She was exhausted, but the sleep wouldn't come. Instead, she could only lay and listen to that strange whomping of the fan on each slow spin; the hotel room was too stuffy in comparison to the freezing air outside. Now, all that was happening was the fan was circulating the hot air around the room...she had to wonder if that was what was keeping her awake.

Or was it thoughts of Remy?

She rolled over and turned to look out of the open door. She could see into the suite's main living room area, and Logan was stretched out on the couch; was that a snore she heard?

_At least someone is getting sleep,_ she thought dully. She wondered if Remy had gotten any sleep last night. She hadn't had time to properly ask, and when she'd thought to ask during the car ride, Logan had interrupted, throwing the Professor into a long explanation about some press conferences he would be attending in Boston during their stay.

Dinner would be soon, she realised as she checked the time on her cellphone which had been lying on the nightstand. They would be dining out again as the Professor apparently loathed the hotel's menu – and according to Logan, was going to drill she and Remy about the separation plan.

She gave up on sleep after the last of the weak wintery daylight disappeared and the room darkened completely. She turned on the dim light next to the bed and focused on getting ready. She changed out of her jeans and sweater into a pair of black pants and a see through purple blouse that fit nicely over the black slip she'd been wearing beneath her sweater. She dragged the brush through her hair carelessly – which matted it so easily these days thanks to its new length – and gazed at her tired face in the mirror.

_Doesn't seem to matter what Ah do these days...Ah always look a mess,_ she thought miserably as she threw her hair back in an awkward folded ponytail that still dangled strangely at her back. In the mirror, she saw the reflection of her totebag sitting on the floor beside the bed.

She could see the tiny bulge on the front pocket of the tote that showed where she'd slipped the vial of red glitter. She moved over to the bag, sat upon the carpeted floor and retrieved it out of the pocket. She turned it around in her bare hand, the shards seemed to have an odd lustre considering the dull lighting. She even though that the tiny shards of glitter seemed much bigger now too, more like tiny stones, and the fine red glitter that had been to the bottom of the vial seemed more coarse and less powdery. Even the colour seemed different to her...rusty somehow, not as dark red as before.

_Ah really need to get it out of him what this is,_ she thought as she pocketed the vial. _Ah've waited long enough and it might be the last chance Ah have for a while. _

Rogue wasn't sure how Remy was going to take the Professor's news that he would remain in Boston and she would be sent back to Bayville. She wasn't sure how Remy would respond that there would be absolutely no contact between the two. She was sure he would be hurt by this, and would feel abandoned and betrayed again. Although this time the blame lay with the Professor's decision to separate them, she didn't feel any the less guilty. Perhaps she should have remained in Bayville after all, and pretended to have never found that hair-tie on Remy's nightstand.

Quickly she fixed her smudged eyeliner rather than remove the makeup and start over. She pulled on her platform boots after creeping out of the suite, deliberate to not wake heavily snoring Logan in the process. There was no point in waking the man as he'd already made clear he had no intentions of going to the restaurant with them. Logan despised fine dining, and he had already stated to Rogue earlier in the day 'look, I'm not a filet-mignon and dauphinoise potato kinda guy, Stripes. I'm a sirloin steak and fries kinda guy'. Rogue smiled a little at the comment as she crossed the hall.

She knocked quietly on the Professor's suite door, and there was no answer. She tried the handle and was surprised that it was unlocked. She opened it slowly and peered around the door. Remy was sitting on the couch, shoes untied, hair a mess, still wearing the clothes from this morning. Suddenly she didn't feel quite so self-conscious.

He had the remote to the television in his hand and was switching it from station to station, listening with a dazed look on his face. It was fortunate, she realised, that the suite's television was the same as the one in the rec room back home in Bayville, so that Remy was able to use the remote to find what he wanted.

"Hi," she said quietly.

He paused, and listened, "Rogue?"

"Yeah," she invited herself in and closed the door behind herself. She leaned there against the door momentarily, watching him as he sat there, still now, remote control dangling from one hand between his spread thighs.

"No sleep for you either?"

"Too hot in this place," she sighed as she folded her arms.

"Oh."

Rogue looked around the suite. The Professor's dry-cleaning had been delivered by hotel staff earlier by the looks of it, and was laid across an armchair. "Where's the Professor?" she asked softly.

"He's bein' interviewed by some newspaper journalist about that bill for mutant health care he was talkin' about in the car..." Remy shrugged.

Rogue remembered Logan's warning about she and Remy being in the same room together alone, and for the moment, she chose to ignore it. She pushed herself away from the door, moved to the chair and moved the dry-cleaning so that it hung from the curtain rail above the large balcony doors; she gazed out onto the balcony and remembered the pain of the edge of it as she had leaned over to grab it. Instinctively she put a hand to her stomach, where she was bruised from the pressure of her midriff against the stone.

She was very aware of Remy's listening to every move she made, and that self-consciousness returned again. Had he known what she was thinking? What she was remembering? Did he know where she was and what she was looking at? She shivered at the thought.

"So..." she said, trying to break the tension that she felt building between them, "How...how was the therapy?" she asked. It was the first time she'd had the chance to ask, since the whole of the journey to the hotel had been based around the Professor's explanation of the speeches he planned to give.

Remy lowered his head, as if he were trying to remember where he had left the remote; he hit the mute button with expert precision, "y'know...if a woman's gon' be paid five hundred dollars an hour t' be with me...I expect t' be ridden like a bull at a rodeo," he crudely remarked.

Rogue frowned at him, she was sure he knew it too.

"Or at least be sucked off."

She sighed angrily and dropped into the armchair the Professor's dry-cleaning had sat upon; the leather of it creaked beneath her.

"Even bein' jerked off would have been adequate. But no. I had t' talk about my _feelin's."_

"That's the point," Rogue sat primly, she felt uncomfortable, especially after his comments. "You're meant to talk about them."

"I talk about my feelin's all the time, Rogue. It's you who jus' don' wanna hear about them."

Rogue chose to ignore this, "What'd the shrink say?"

"She thinks my bein' able t' see _defined_ who I thought I was."

"Didn't it?" Rogue queried.

"I dunno. Sounded like bullshit t' me. She got paid a hell of a lot of money to sit there and point out the obvious. I jus' wanted t' be out of there..." he sighed no, sounding rather tired with it all. "Why y' sittin' all the way over there...y' sound so far away..."

Rogue's cheeks flushed scarlet, she wasn't sure why she had done so. It had been almost involuntary.

"I got a couch over here y' know. I know my ass is probably twice the size it used t' be now that I don' get much exercise but I'm sure it hasn't spread over all three seats..."

"You haven't gained weight," Rogue responded admittedly, she sat forward on her seat a little, "if anythin'...you're thinner."

"How thin?" he asked. She was unsure why he wanted to know; surely he knew he'd lost weight?

"Ah dunno. Not as bad as Christian Bale in that movie 'The Machinist'. That was just...gross."

"I guess y' like men all...meaty. Like Summers."

Rogue rolled her eyes. He sure liked to bring things up that weren't relevant any more. She supposed arguing was the only thing he had left right now that probably entertained him somewhat.

"I used t' look good. Used t' be somethin' t' see. Used t' comb my hair, shave...work out every day...now I probably look like a hobo in comparison t' Summers in y' opinion," said Remy, sounding irritable now.

"Ah don't care how you look," Rogue snapped, instant guilt followed. The look on his face was strange, almost twisted. Was he _mad_ that she didn't care about his looks? Did he really still _depend_ on his appearance? "What Ah mean is..." she stood slowly, sighing softly, "is that...it doesn't _matter_. What Ah see in you...isn't...what you are on the outside..." she half knelt on the seat next to him on the couch, looming higher than him slightly. "Ah guess the way...you must think of me."

"You think I don' find y' beautiful?" he asked quietly.

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes again at him, "we both know what Ah am, and it isn't beautiful. _Jean_ is beautiful...Kitty is _pretty,_ and Ororo is stunnin'...and then there's me..."

"Y' got the kinda face that could model couture on a runway," he admitted, "and I've been t' Paris, I've seen those women, and they don' compare t' you."

"Shut up," she picked the nearest throw pillow up and swung it at him hard; it caught her by surprise when he threw up his left hand – the furthest away from her – up to block it from hitting his face while simultaneously swinging his right arm around her and tackling her down to the couch, bracing her chest down with his left arm firmly. The movement was so fast that it took her breath; if he'd had a weapon handy he could have easily murdered her then and there.

She stared up at his sightless eyes, they were looking straight at her and never saw the gaping expression upon her face. He was still, his face tense.

"That..." she began, she tried to inhale deeply but found it hard with his arm where it was and his body pushed against hers, "that was...impressive."

"I've had practice," he sounded deadly serious.

"Ah hope you don't go doin' this kind of thing often to women..." she breathed out what little breath she had left.

"Only when they wan' t' play rough."

"Well...Ah never said Ah did..." she swallowed.

"Y' went t' hit me – that's rough enough f' me."

"Ah can't breathe..."

"It make y' uncomfortable?" he asked, a hot intensity in his voice that made her tingle and tremble all at the same time.

"You're suffocating me..." she shuddered.

"That's how this darkness is...this blindness..." his soft hot breath caressed her lips like the brush of velvet, "pushin' down...suffocatin' me...holdin' me to it..." his eyes seemed to lock into hers.

Why did she feel that pull of his stare, like the draw of a magnet, or the way a tornado pulls everything in its path towards it. She was being dragged slowly, and somehow willingly into him and his face was lowering slowly towards hers, their lips inches apart.

"Remy...don't..." she pressed her hands against his chest awkwardly, trying to force him back. "What are you tryin' to do...?" she groaned.

"It could be exquisite..." he whispered, "that last, soft kiss of death...and the darkness gets me completely...and you...you get everythin' I was..."

She gaped at him, "Remy...Ah...no!" she somehow forced her knee up and caught him in the groin. He made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and the yelp of a dog with its testicles caught on barbed wire.

Remy rolled off and landed on the floor next to the couch, hands pressed between his tightly shut thighs, curled up with his eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared. "Christ..."

"You deserved that!" she sat up quickly, her eyes were burning as fresh tears brimmed.

"I'd rather take death..." he gasped in pain, he rolled onto his right side, still gripping his family jewels.

"You can't _play_ with my powers like that! It's not funny!" she stood and paced frantically across the room, wringing her hands at the air.

"It wasn' meant t' be..." was that tears of pain she saw trickling down his perfect nose?

"You'd leave me here...alone...with _your_ thoughts maybe stuck in my head for the _rest_ of my life? The _guilt_ of knowin' it was _my_ fault you _died?"_

After a moment, he managed to sit up, still gripping himself, the pain showed in the tightness of his face, "at least it'd be one way I'd be able t' be _with_ you..." he said quietly.

"Not funny," she said again, she swept angrily at her tears. "Why do you act like this?"

He had no answer for her, he sat there, face sullen now. He shook his head. He didn't know.

She stood still now and glared at him, "You're bein' this way is why the Professor and Logan think we should be split up! They're gonna stop me from seein' you, Remy...don't you _know that_?"

Remy looked up now, although he couldn't see her he sensed her direction, his face became a blank.

"They think that me and you bein' in the same room together is a bad idea because you _always_ go crazy like this! And now Ah have no choice! Me and Logan are leavin' tomorrow..."

"But...I need y' here..." he began.

"That doesn't matter to the Professor...he's focused on getting you _healthy_...and that doesn't include my bein' here!"

"What if I don' go through with this treatment?" Remy asked quietly, voice still tainted with pain.

"It doesn't matter. The Professor is gonna take you with him to Washington...where you'll meet with another shrink while he's workin' on lobbyin' for the mutant health care thing..." Rogue explained, "And Ah'll go back to Bayville with Logan and go back to school..." she swallowed. "Ah won't be allowed to call, or to write you. And if you _leave _to go back to Louisiana...and don't go back to Bayville..." she looked away from him. It was hard to look him in the eyes even if he couldn't see her. "If you don't come back to the Institute...Ah'll never see you again," more tears spilled, this time they weren't angry.

"They can't do this..." Remy shook his head.

"They can and they _will. _It's already done, the plans are already made, Remy..."

"I can't _help_ the way I've been actin'...they can't _punish_ us for somethin' that we got no control over..."

"They don't see it as punishment. They think it's prevention...and after what you just tried to do...maybe they're right..." Rogue headed for the door, "Ah...Ah should go...we aren't meant to be alone together...this is _why_ they didn't want us together. God...Ah should have listened to them! We shouldn't be together."

"So this is it, then..." he stood slowly, pained, "the last time we _will _be..."

"Ah...Ah guess it is..." she opened the door slowly, and then hovered for a moment, staring off into the hall. "Remy?" she asked softly over her shoulder.

"Oui, Cherie?" he asked, there was a catch in his throat, as if he were having trouble speaking at all.

"Promise me somethin'..." she requested as she traced her finger around the edge of the door frame absently.

It took a moment for him to decide, but he finally responded with, "okay?"

"Don't...don't do anythin'...stupid..." she glanced over her shoulder at him, "okay?"

He sighed the answer, "okay."

Rogue waited, hoping he would give more than just an 'okay'.

"I promise," he finished, he sounded beaten, weak and defenceless.

"Ah'll...see you at dinner..."

"Shame I won' be able t' see you."

* * *

**End of Part 25**

* * *

Thanks to everyone for their continued support of the story. The reviews have been pouring in consistantly for some time now and it always gives me the warm tingly fuzzies that someone took time out of their own days to say they liked the chapters or took time to tell me what they think (it's so much fun seeing people trying to predict what's going to happen next or what they think the meaning is behind certain things!). You're all so wonderful, you always make my days/nights. I must retire to the land of nod (climbing the wooden hill to Bedfordshire). I love you all :) 3


	26. Part 26

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 26**

**My Decision**

* * *

Rogue took her seat at the table in the restaurant as the waiter pulled it out for her. The tablecloth was dark red and she felt her stomach churn at this, remembering the red of Remy's blood from her dreams, from the kitchen floor the night he'd cut himself. She tried to force it out of her mind as she let the chair be pushed in for her; she glanced across the table watching Remy awkwardly get into his seat too.

He looked so tired, even if he was hiding behind dark glasses. He'd combed his hair, but it looked almost greasy, he'd shaven with an electric razor, but not very thoroughly. He was wearing smarter clothes – no doubt, a gift from the Professor – but again, he didn't seem to suit them. He looked as out of place in the restaurant as she felt.

The Professor had been quiet in the car on the way to the restaurant, and Rogue couldn't help but feel he sensed the truth had already come out. Perhaps Logan had even mentioned to him in passing earlier before they had all left.

Trying to force herself to seem less distraught, she unfolded her napkin and placed it upon her knee despite they had not ordered yet. She listened to the menu being read out and she and Remy ordered the same starting course, goats cheese bonbons with salad.

As they waited for their order, Rogue tried to make light conversation with the Professor; he was eager to talk about working for mutant rights to health care. Their drinks arrived first, and Rogue sipped on her ice water with lemon while she listened, all the while every now and then glancing towards Remy to see if he was listening too.

When the first course arrived, the Professor finally announced his plans, "I'm sure you may have already been told about what will be happening tomorrow," said the Professor. "Rogue and Logan will be flying back to Bayville, and you and I will remain here while you are under care."

"A bit unfair, isn't it?" Remy asked, he picked up his glass of water after finding it and took a drink before speaking again, "y' not even tellin' us _before _y' go and make all those plans."

The Professor was about to speak when Remy continued before he had the chance to.

"Y' coulda at least given us 'til New Year."

Professor Xavier gave a light sigh, "I honestly hate having to make these decisions, Remy. I know you and Rogue are...close," he admitted. "But...you will be here in Boston for a while if you decide to go through with this treatment, and Rogue will still have School and training in Bayville."

"What if I don' wan' do this treatment thing anymore?" Remy asked pointedly, strong tones of insolence tainted his normally smooth voice. "What if I jus' wanna go back to Bayville now? What if I _wanna _go to blind school...what if I wanna have Logan train me in the Danger Room...and join the X-Men in some way?"

Rogue, who had been sipping from her glass again, spluttered and coughed, had she imagined what Remy had just said? Had he finally given in or had he finally come to his senses? Could this actually be happening? Surely he was being hypothetical...but then again, hadn't he said something to this effect earlier? If she hadn't been so upset she may have taken more notice.

"I..." the Professor faltered, "perhaps we should discuss that privately."

"No, not really," Remy stated, "what y' gon' say t' me, y' can say in front of Rogue. I'm not in the mood t' play secrets."

Rogue thought this rather funny, as he tended to do nothing but. If he wasn't playing secrets, why hadn't he already told her about the glittering red substance in the vial in her pants pocket?

"I've played secrets too many times recently," Remy admitted sourly, "right now...all I want is f' all the cards t' be put on the table so we all know what's been dealt."

The Professor's face was tight, and Rogue saw that he didn't want to discuss the issue further, but Remy pressed on despite Rogue got the sense Remy already knew this bothered the man.

"Well? Out with it."

"Are you sure you want this discussed at the dinner table?" asked Professor Xavier worriedly.

"Yes," said Remy definitely. "Whatever y' need t' say, it's fine for her t' hear."

"Very well," the Professor gave in, "Dr. Sinatra has some...concerns."

"Concerns, eh?" Remy asked, he feigned boredom with the subject.

"About your mental health. Some of the answers you gave, some of the things you discussed..."

Remy snorted, "she's a quack. It took her an hour t' figure out that I was mad I'd lost my sight. Not exactly at the top of her field, I'm guessin'."

"Dr. Sinatra thinks..." the Professor began, Rogue saw him glance her way and she realised he didn't want to say something in front of her.

"Well?" asked Remy.

"That you may have a serious mental illness."

A laugh escaped Remy's lips. An incredulous laugh that only seemed to confirm the psychiatrist's suspicions. He certainly _seemed_ to be mentally ill as of late, and Rogue couldn't deny his suicidal behaviour, and all this dark talk of his as of recent could only be further truth of this.

"You need further _evaluation," _the Professor finished.

"I guess this is what she wanted t' talk t' y' about privately," Remy reasoned. "And of course she's gon' think that, isn't she? She's gon' wan' t' bill y' at extortionate prices. Pay me the five hundred beans and I'll talk about my _feelin's_ if that's what y' want."

"And for five hundred dollars, would you have come to the same conclusion that Dr. Sinatra has?" Professor Xavier queried calmly.

"No," Remy answered truthfully. "Y' know as well as I do that this is _nothin'_ t' do with my _mental health_. It's my _sight_ that's the problem. If I could see, these things wouldn't be an issue."

"Remy...the thoughts and feelings I've sensed from you convince me otherwise."

"I'm not _mentally ill. _I'm not a psychiatrist, but people jus' don't suddenly switch t' bein' crazy overnight, Prof..."

"Certain events _can_ trigger psychological issues that weren't noticeably present otherwise," the Professor assured.

"I'm not ill and I _ain't_ goin' back t' that shrink."

"Then what do you want to do?" asked the Professor openly.

Remy paused, his expression thoughtful, "I wan' go back t' Bayville. Like I said."

"I thought you hated it in Bayville?" asked Professor Xavier carefully.

"Not anymore."

"You want to go back because you and Rogue will be separated?"

Remy frowned, "I wan' t' go _back _because I _don'_ wanna be fucked around anymore. Rogue's right... that Doctor from this mornin' isn' gon' _save_ my sight...and I _don'_ think that Dr. 'These boots were made for walking' Sinatra is gon' make my _mental health_ any better either. What I _need_ is t' be around someone who _cares 'bout me_. I've never _had_ that..."

Rogue stared across the table, eyes misty, lip trembling.

"You and Rogue might be the firs' people I think really _do_ care. The only ones who _don'_ want anythin' from me...the only ones who don' have an interest in me 'cause of my usefulness..." Remy confessed. "Maybe took me a while t' see that..." he suddenly laughed an almost hysterical laugh, "I mean took me a while t' _understand_ that..."

Wincing, Rogue gripped the edge of the table hard. This felt terribly wrong, he might be talking sense but he still seemed far from sane or rational.

The Professor took a moment to consider Remy's words, "if you're serious about this, then you must complete your mental care _elsewhere_."

"Remy," Rogue finally found her voice, "this...is really sudden..." she swallowed hard, "everything...with you is _rash_, with no _thought..._you jump from decision to decision, you take dangerous risks with no idea of what could happen...how do we know this isn't just...whatever is wrong with your head makin' you want to do this?"

"There's nothin' wrong with my head!" Remy slammed his fist on the table.

Rogue felt her heart bounce hard and rattle just as the silverware on the table did.

"Why are y' bein' this way! Y' begged me not t' do this! Y' _begged_ me not t' take the risk! Y' don' want me t' go away...what do you want me t' do Rogue! I've given _in_ and y' _still_ pickin' at my bones like there's any _meat_ of a fight left!"

"Remy, please...you're making a scene," the Professor warned, Rogue noted he was rubbing his head as if the two of their arguing had given him a headache. She was positive it wasn't the first they had instigated in his troubled mind.

Rogue's tears broke free and trickled down her cheeks as she stared across the table at him. She realised now that the Professor and Logan had both been right; she and Remy could not be in the same room together, there was something between them that was chemically explosive, something in her being near him seemed to bring out some kind of antagonism, seemed to bring out the most tragic of reactions.

Now, she realised there really _was _no choice.

She quickly dabbed the tears away with her napkin and composed herself before she made a scene herself, "it has to be _your_ decision to help yourself..." her voice cracked, "Not mine."

"This _is_ my decision. I wan' t' give this one more try."

"Are you willing to do anything?" Rogue asked softly, much to the Professor's surprise.

"Yes," Remy said, a definite firmness to his tone.

"And you'll do what Ah ask?" she exhaled.

"Yes," he replied again, this time even more determined.

Rogue pursed her lips together as she considered this. Finally, she stood up, "the Professor is right, Remy..." she took a deep breath and tried to control the shaking of her voice. "We're pickin' at each other all the time...we can't get along when we're like this...my _bein'_ here isn't helping you...it's holdin' you back."

Remy gazed up at her sightlessly, his mouth hanging open, he seemed to pale.

"Stay...and get whatever treatment you need...get healthy...get _better_..." she felt more tears escaping. "And if...you still want the same things after, then come back to Bayville when you're ready," she put her napkin on the table.

Remy's face darkened, "what about you and me?" he asked hoarsely.

Rogue looked away from him, she had to purse her lips together from wanting to sob, despair and grief seemed to overwhelm her like a heavy black blanket that she couldn't get out from under. "You told me that this was all because of me, that you ended up this way because of me..."

Remy opened his mouth to speak and Rogue interrupted him before he had the chance to respond.

"Ah have to step away...Ah've ruined your life enough...and Ah know if you're with me...you're throwing what's left of it away..." Rogue felt another tear tickling it's way down her cheek like the tiny brushes of a feather.

"Rogue..." the Professor began worriedly, he reached out towards her, but she quickly moved away.

"Excuse me...Ah'm gonna catch a cab back to the hotel," she wiped her tear on the back of her gloved finger, "Ah don't feel too well...Ah have a headache."

* * *

**End of Part 26**

* * *

Thanks to everyone for their reviews. Sorry to the few who've felt that my story is "dragging" and going nowhere. At times, this was how Rogue and Gambit's relationship was in the comics and some of the cartoons and it's always been the way I've written things. I refuse to be a three chapter "happily ever after" fanfic author where everything magically ties up and works regardless of Rogue's powers.

Anyway, stay tuned, the explanation to the red glitter is coming up shortly.


	27. Part 27

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 27**

**Shards**

* * *

When Rogue returned to the hotel alone, Logan was already waiting there for her. Before she even had approached the door to their suite, the door was open and he was standing there, a dark and worried expression buried in the fine lines of his face. There was something so strong about the silence between them that spoke the volumes of what had happened, of how she felt, of how he understood.

Without even realising it was about to happen, she burst into hysterical sobs and fell to her knees on the hallway carpet, throwing her hands up to her tear-stained face. The strength of the grief she felt over severing ties with Remy LeBeau left her feeling as if she had just run him through with a blade. She had been looking away from Remy when she'd spoken and yet, she had still somehow that picture of devastation on his face. Why did she feel it so strongly too? How could she be mourning over the end of a relationship that had never really begun?

Logan pulled her up from the floor and took her inside, she was still sobbing as if the world was coming to an end and there was nothing she could do to stop it. When the door was closed, she fell against him and cried against his shoulder harder than she was sure she had ever cried in her life. She had no idea where the power of this pain had come from but it was so hard to hold back now that it had escaped. It seemed to go on for an eternity, the tears kept coming and her shuddering sobs continued, it might have been ten minutes, it may have been twenty or thirty, she had no concept of the time anymore, all she knew was grief and grief was timeless. Grief was a black hole to which there was no escape...no light...no possibilities of happiness ever again.

"C'mon...pull yourself together, now," Logan said, although it sounded like a command, Rogue didn't miss the tone of compassion in his voice. He led her to the couch of their suite and sat her down, handing her a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table.

She wiped her tears roughly, suddenly not caring so much that her makeup was probably smudged across her face or that her nose was running like a faucet.

"Charles called and told me what happened," Logan sat upon the coffee table so he was opposite her, he handed her more tissues, "he's asked me to make this easier on you so I've called the airport and got us the next flight out of Boston. You have an hour to pull yourself together and get your stuff packed."

Rogue nodded sadly.

"It's for the best, Rogue," Logan clamped a hand hard on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring shake.

"Ah know," she breathed, she dabbed at her eyes again.

"And it's not like you'll never see him again," Logan added. "He'll be back.""

Rogue pushed herself up, a surge of anger heated her blood, "No. He _won't_ be back. Ah've just walked away and left him there. He's never gonna wanna come back after that..."

"He _will_, just give him time..."

"Stop _actin' _like you can tell the fuckin' future!" Rogue spat at him. "Ah'm sick of bein' told what to do and how to think and what to feel!"

"Calm down," Logan stood too, slowly and deliberate.

"No!" Rogue threw her hands against him as he tried to console her, she hit his chest and pushed him back, catching him by so much surprise that he nearly lost his balance.

"What the hell..." Logan demanded, he caught her arms and held them in the air, "what's gotten into you?"

Rogue struggled with him just for a moment, then she stared across at him, she felt her mouth drop. She wasn't sure what _had_ gotten into her, all she knew was that the anger had been so incredibly powerful that she hadn't been able to help herself. In Logan's eyes she saw that look, the look that said she was toeing a line that had nearly sent her into a point of no return. Logan didn't like disrespect, and attacking him was almost as disrespectful as you could get.

She let her arms go limp, she felt the tears still sliding down her burning cheeks. Shame overcome her like a wave of thick tar. She couldn't shake it.

Logan let go of her arms and he moved away, shaking his head at her, "you have that look on your face...that...mad look he gets..." he warned her. She wasn't sure which look this was, or why she should have it.

Sighing, she sank onto the couch and gave something of a hysterical laugh, "Ah think Ah'm goin' crazy. Maybe Ah'm the one who should be goin' to a shrink..." Rogue felt something in her hip pocket, it was incredibly hot against the thin material, and almost felt as if it would burn her skin. With a sigh she reached into her pocket to retrieve whatever it was and as she pulled it out, suddenly she realised it was the vial of red glitter. She had completely forgotten about it.

Logan's eyes caught it immediately; the colour was too bright too ignore. Rogue had thought it seemed almost rust-coloured earlier in the day, but now it seemed to be vivid, a red burgeoning on florescent, it almost seemed to glow, and the shards sparkled without movement towards the light.

"What the hell is that..." Logan frowned, he came over and snatched the vial from her hand before she could even object.

"Ah...Ah dunno..." she swallowed, "Ah found it...in Remy's old coat..."

"When?"

"A...a while ago..." she stammered guiltily.

"It's burnin' hot..." Logan held it up to the light. "What the hell is this stuff?"

"Ah tried to ask him..." she explained.

"And?" Logan asked expectantly.

"He wouldn't say..." Rogue wiped the remainder of her tears away with a fresh tissue. "He just got all cryptic...and told me to take it to the Professor...or Hank...that _they'd know..."_

"So why didn't you?" Logan demanded, now angry too.

"Ah don't know..." Rogue replied quickly, suddenly feeling like a five year old being yelled at by a teacher. "Ah thought...that Ah could get him to _trust_ me...get him to tell me the _truth..._"

Logan's face darkened and he stood staring at the vial, his expression cloudy, his lip curled into a sneer. Then, he raised his head and seemed to listen. It was obvious by the look on his face that he heard someone in the hall; he quickly moved to the main door of the suite and opened it, finding that the Professor was outside, Remy hanging onto the back of the electric wheelchair.

"We need to talk," Logan uttered, his voice firm, full of authority.

Rogue glanced over as the the Professor – seemingly quite confused – led the way in, Remy trailing behind with one hand on the wheelchair. She felt more sadness to see Remy again – she had hoped she could escape this night without needing to be in his presence again. She wasn't strong enough for this, the despair was so powerful it almost seemed as if it would swallow her whole.

"What's wrong, Logan?" asked Professor Xavier, he glanced across at Rogue and Rogue realised he was studying the splashes of makeup that trailed her face thanks to too many tears.

"Any idea what this is?" Logan asked, he tossed the vial towards the Professor, who caught it deftly although dropped it into his lap at once when he felt how hot it was.

Professor Xavier took a cloth handkerchief from his suit pocket and picked up the vial using it, he studied it intensely, the vein on his forehead seemed to throb as he did and he put a hand up to his head at once.

Remy dropped both hands to his sides and shook his head a little, Rogue wasn't sure if it was at the situation or at his own behaviour. He let out a sigh and moved away from the wheelchair and tried to go back towards the open door leading to the hallway; Logan prevented this by suddenly slamming the door shut.

"I don't think so, pal," said Logan angrily. "You're not goin' anywhere!"

"Logan...lower your voice..." the Professor pleaded, his voice strained.

"What's wrong?" Logan asked suddenly, he moved over, noting the look of exhaustion and pain spread across the Professor's face.

"I've been suffering headaches for days but..." Professor Xavier rubbed his head, "it intensified the moment I came into contact with _this_..."

Remy hovered awkwardly, his blind eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

Rogue pursed her lips and stared at Remy, waiting for the explanation he hadn't offered her since the moment she'd revealed to him her discovery of this vial.

"Just _what_ is that stuff and _what_ were you gonna use it for?" Logan asked, the words now under his breath.

Looking drained, and hopeless, Remy threw his head up as if he were going to stare at the ceiling, he let out a lament, then spoke. "Shards."

"From?" Logan demanded.

Remy ran his fingers through his hair, "Magneto used t' call it _The Ruby of the Crimson Bands,_" he explained. "It was part o' a much bigger piece...one that he had in his _Cauldron_...on the Asteroid."

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "You were there?"

"Jus' 'cause y' never seen me didn't mean I wasn' there..." Remy explained, "Oh, I was there alright...but not the night y' all destroyed that place."

"How did you get this?" the Professor asked.

"An meteor ended up in Mexico...with parts of the Caudron machine still attached t' it. There were shards embedded int' it."

"Magneto sent you after it?"

Remy didn't answer.

Logan took Remy by the arm and led him roughly to the couch where he forced him to sit. "Who sent you after it?"

"Maybe you should start from the beginning," the Professor suggested.

Rogue turned to look at Remy who was now sitting next to her; his hand was on the seat of the couch and almost touching her own. For some reason she felt impulse to grab it but resisted.

"Fine," Remy agreed finally after a moment of contemplation. "It was months ago...maybe eight...and I was sought out by this...guy t' do some work. When I say _work, _it was more like breakin' and enterin', stealin' some valuable information from a computer. It was encrypted but that wasn' my problem. All I had t' do was get the encrypted information on t' one of them USB drives, get out undetected and deliver the goods..." he explained. "So...I get t' where the meetin' point is, and there's this plane...small, but decked out. The kind y' see the military coverin' up. Kinda plane that ain' supposed t' exist...like _your_ plane."

"And?" Logan asked.

"I'm instructed t' get in by this guy in a black mask...and so I do. He pilots us t' this Island...I failed geography, but we had t' stop t' fuel up about ten hours after the flight started and then it was a further three hours before we arrived. I got led t' this bunker...where the guy who hired me is in this underground lab, the kind y' see in sci-fi movies. I had t' be escorted past all these...these doors that had two guys workin' passes at each side of the doors t' unlock them...I must have gone down in at least four elevators. This place was _really _underground. Anyway...I give the stolen computer files to the guy and we talk. And I ask him – quite casual – what he was workin' on."

"What'd he say?" Logan asked.

"He told me he's workin' on a special project. This project isn't jus' y' normal run of the mill stuff. This is big...this is _world _changin' big."

"What was it?" pressed Professor Xavier, looking intrigued.

"Somethin' he was makin'...somethin' he was gonna do...it was gon' give the choice t' mutants...the choice whether we _wan' _t' be mutants or not. That we could be _human._ Not jus' _live_ the human life but...be wit' out the powers..."

Rogue drew a deep breath, she felt sick.

"Anyway, months go by...I went between Louisiana and Bayville...watchin' and workin'...keepin' myself busy. Then I get contacted by him again, this time t' go to Mexico 'cause a meteor had been found by some archaeologists up there workin' on some Mayan site...and I was t' get it from them. The shards on it were one of the important _ingredients _for this mutant _cure-all_."

"He knew what these shards were?" asked the Professor.

"He knew that they'd belonged t' Magneto, he knew about Juggernaut. He knew about _everything._ He knew _all_ kinds of shit he shouldn't have and at the time, I didn' think t' really question it. The pay was pretty good but I was kinda curious about the project so I agreed t' get the shards. It took me a while t' get them, the rock was too big t' steal...so I took what I could of the shards gradually without bein' noticed and I left...I had t' wait for contact..."

"Then?" the Professor asked.

"Last month I got contacted again, this time I was in Bayville. I was told I needed t' get this sketchy chemical substance that coincidentally I would _only_ find in Bayville – it's experimental...and the military were gon' get it if the guy didn't..." Remy muttered. "I was told I _had _t' get t' it first 'cause if the government got it..." he trailed off.

"They'd use it as a weapon against all mutant kind..." the Professor realised.

"Yeah..." Remy admitted.

"So...you went to chemical plant to take it first," said Logan, "before it could be shipped out to the 'wrong hands'."

"Yeah. Then y_ou guys_ got there...I had t' use my powers t' get int' their sealed room and y' picked up on that and traced me...which is why I'm here now. Y' know the rest."

"You were gonna wage war on us all by givin' this guy – who's name you don't even know – a weapon to turn us _human_?" Logan snapped.

"No..." said Remy, "It wasn't gon' be a weapon to use against you all...and it wasn' gon' go far. I was playin' him...I was gon' take it...once I knew how t' use it..."

"Why?" Logan demanded.

Remy turned towards Rogue; it seemed he smelled her perfume, or felt her presence. "For her..." he said softly. "For Rogue..."

Rogue turned to look at him in astonishment.

"I was gon' take the cure...and then destroy the lab and get out...I was gon' use the cure for you, Rogue...then destroy whatever was left...but it all backfired..." he explained to her.

"These shards are emitting an intense vibration..." said the Professor, he moved the chair towards the door.

"Where you going?" Logan asked irritably.

"To call Magneto. He has dealt with this substance before, any information he can offer would be an advantage."

* * *

**End of Part 27**

* * *

Hope everyone is still enjoying the story. Two updates in one night. Yay me. And now, off to climb the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Love you all 3


	28. Part 28

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 28**

**Sometimes Life is...**

* * *

Rogue couldn't settle. She restlessly shifted in the uncomfortable seat of the waiting area in the airport, her eyes glanced towards the board to check the time. The flight would be boarding in the next ten minutes.

As she thought of Remy's explanation - his _claim_ to have intended to cure her of the powers which had hindered her from leading a normal life – her stomach twisted in a mixture of angry knots while she tried to deny her eyes from growing misty at the idea. Since the day they had met, Remy LeBeau had said _and_ done some pretty stupid things, but this definitely had to be the metaphorical crown on the king of stupidity.

Frustratedly, she gave a deep and resonant sigh which caused Logan – sitting at her right – to turn and look at her.

"Sometimes," began Logan, in a grunt, "sometimes life is like a giant kick to the balls," he explained.

Rogue turned to give him a questioning glance.

"You just gotta hold onto yourself and wait 'til the pain goes away."

Staring down at the floor, Rogue counted the number of tiles as she listened to him talking metaphorically.

"The thing is," Logan shifted in his seat to lean nearer to her and murmur it softly, "sometimes the kick wasn't intentional...and as much as it _hurt..._you gotta accept that the foot just swung blindly at you without knowin' where it was goin'."

She snorted angrily, "that doesn't make my imaginary love spuds feel any better, Logan."

Logan snorted too, although his was more in amusement. "Listen, you know I don't really _like_ the kid...but if the shards really are that unstable, and did what the Professor says they did-"

"Look," Rogue stopped Logan abruptly. "Ah can _accept_ that it wasn't Remy's _intention_ to cause all this trouble. Really, Ah get it...but..." she shook her head.

"But what?"

"He tried to _fix_ me...like...like Ah'm somethin' broken...like a little broken china cup he thought he could glue together and make_ useful_ again."

After a moment, Logan gave something of a distant chuckle and admitted, "you know...some guys would do anything for love. Stupid things."

"Oh yeah?" Rogue rolled her eyes.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, right," she uttered, "what would _you _know about love?"

"I know plenty."

She turned around awkwardly in her seat, "so what _stupid_ things have you done for love?"

"I stuck around."

Rogue raised an eyebrow.

Logan stood up and stretched, he paced a little "You think I stick at Xavier's for the great _pay ? _For the fulfilling _career_?" he asked, he gave a bitter laugh, "for the _action_? For the _adventure_?"

"Ah..." she tried, but couldn't find the words.

"I'm a loose cannon, Rogue. I'm dangerous..._unpredictable._ I have a violent streak...I could snap, I could destroy everything and everyone around me. But I stick around. I stick around for _you_, Rogue, for _all_ of you. I hate usin' the word _love_, Rogue. It's like a dirty word...and the _feelin'_ is even more uncomfortable...but..." he shrugged, "I love you kids...you're all the only home I've ever really _known,_ and for as long as I can _remember..._you're the only reason I've had for existing..."

Rogue gazed down at the floor again, uneasily. "That is stupid."

"It is, isn't it? That the _love_ is stronger than the fear that I'll tear apart everything around me?" Logan sat back down. "So...the concept of Gumbo doin' this _stupid_ thing...just to be _with you_...it doesn't seem all that stupid after all."

"How do you know that this wasn't just some stupid thing he did to get laid...?"

"Would _you_ go to that much trouble for a tiny bit of pleasure?" Logan pointed out.

Rogue wasn't sure she knew the answer.

Logan glanced at his watch, then said, "your plane will be boarding soon."

"Ah know," she grumbled, she placed her hands anxiously upon her lap and leaned forward a little. Then, a sudden realisation struck her. He'd said _your..._not _our. _"Wait..." she turned to look at him, "what? What do you mean _my_ plane?"

"I'm not comin'," Logan folded his arms and leaned back in the seat, "got bigger fish to fry."

"But?"

"Someone needs to take the shards away somewhere safe, where they can't affect anyone...and I've volunteered."

Rogue tried to process this new information. Mixed with the hurt of Remy's earlier revelations, she now felt incredibly thrown off balance. "But-"

Logan gave her a warning look, he didn't want her pressing questions but she pushed further anyway.

"You saw what those shards did to Remy..."

"I need to get them away from where they can hurt any of you...and besides...my healing factor means I'm the best candidate. Even if things go to extremes, I can take severe injuries far better than any of you. My DNA _ensures _I'm a survivor. You got nothin' to worry about."

"So Ah'm goin' home alone to an empty house?" Rogue asked disappointedly. She'd never liked being in the mansion when it was empty. She enjoyed solitude, a room all to herself, her bedroom, but being in an entire building on her own had always left her feeling disconnected from the world. She felt disconnected enough right now already.

"Hank is taking off from his family vacation early...he'll pick you up in Bayville, take you home," Logan explained.

"You wait until _now_ to tell me?"

"I'm not the only one here who's guilty of withholding information, now, am I?" he pointed out, somewhat stubbornly.

"Ah'm sorry," Rogue finally sighed.

"And so you _should_ be," Logan muttered, "we've known each other a long time, Rogue...and why you felt you couldn't come to me...I don't know."

Sadly, Rogue wasn't sure she knew the answer either anymore.

* * *

End of Part 28

* * *

Ah yes, it _has_ been a while, hasn't it? I'm sorry I've kept so many people in suspense. Thanks to everyone who have been hounding to remind me to update, it's one of those things that does help motivate. Love you all and I hope to hear from some you in the reviews section. 33


	29. Part 29

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 29**

**Visitor**

* * *

Remy LeBeau had slept soundly; he couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly through a whole night. When he awakened, he felt slightly disorientated. Ever since his blindness, waking up anywhere he couldn't see had always been disorientating, but in this hotel, it was more so than usual. He checked his braille watch and discovered it was after nine am. There were quiet voices coming from the suite's main living room, and he pulled himself out of bed to investigate, accidentally bumping his thigh into the hard corner of the nightstand as he went to do so.

The voices stopped after the clatter of what sounded like a lamp or an ornament of such and he bent down to retrieve whatever it had been – hard ceramic told him it was an empty vase that thankfully had not broken as far as he could tell. His bedroom door had been opened, he realised, and he had been heard.

"Remy, is everything all right?" asked Professor Xavier from the next room.

Remy felt his cheeks flush a little as he placed the vase back on the nightstand carefully and made his way to the door, feeling his way there. "Sorry. Knocked somethin' over," he answered as he entered into the living room, still vaguely remembering the days when he hadn't been as clumsy.

There was a faint smell of cologne in the room and it was a particular scent that stood out to him, one he'd definitely noted before. Along with that smell come the memory of a man with silvery hair dressed impeccably in a suit with a smart overcoat and a hat – a former employer. He was surprised with himself for remembering this but counted his blessings that scents could stir the memories so easily.

"Magneto," he said under his breath as he hovered at the door.

"Good morning," came the polite but strangely curt reply of Magneto.

Remy rubbed his arm, still hovering, awkward and unsure. It felt strange to be in the presence of his previous employer now that he was so vulnerable. He had never been technically _afraid_ of Magneto; he was one of the few who had worked for the man who _hadn't_ feared him. Regardless, the unease stirred a goosebumped response across his skin. If Magneto _did _want to react in any way to him that was less than amiable, he'd be helpless.

Remy forced a slightly mumbled "Bon matin" as he leaned into the door frame and feigned being casual and comfortable as best he could. He was sure the Professor could sense the nerves emanating from him.

"Magnus has come to help," said Professor Xavier, sounding calm and unaffected. There was a clink of a tea or coffee cup against a saucer, and the smell of toast was strong in the room. "Come sit down."

"Help with what?" Remy asked, not moving; he still felt somewhat disorientated and tried to remember the night before. Why was it that it felt so distant? What did last night feel as if it were so very long ago?

"You took samples of something that once belonged to me," said Magneto, his voice too calm.

Remy pushed himself away from the door and worked his way over to where they were; there was a small round table not far from the patio doors of the room, as he touched the back of a chair, it felt light and flipped back slightly in his hand telling him it was free. He sat down carefully, feeling like some spectacle he was sure Magneto was probably studying with a sense of amusement.

"I didn' _steal_ it," Remy remarked brusquely. "Is there coffee?" he breathed in the smell of freshly brewed coffee, it was an odd question really although he supposed that he might be smelling the dregs of their cups.

"Of course," said Professor Xavier, a gentle clink and then the sound of water hitting ceramic told him the man was pouring him a cup, he felt it being led to his hand and he accepted it gratefully.

"I didn't accuse you of theft, Gambit," said Magneto after a moment, still ever calm.

Remy sipped from the still reasonably hot liquid then explained, "I found it in Mexico...I don't know what happened to the rest of it."

"Where are the shards?" asked Magneto.

Unsure, Remy was about to say he didn't know anymore; Rogue had had them for a while now. Before he had the chance to open his mouth, the Professor answered for him.

"Logan has taken them to a remote location and will guard them for the moment. We couldn't risk keeping the shards here, close to so many people," explained Professor Xavier.

"A wise decision," said Magneto. "Most of the shards had been destroyed through the explosion of Asteroid M. Some are still floating in space, while I managed to recover most of what fell to Earth. The shards that remained in tact became _unstable_, with unpredictable complications."

"What y' mean _unstable_?" Remy queried, he heard the Professor buttering toast; the scraping sound made him feel strangely on edge.

"Do you know what the Gems of Cyttorak can do?" Magneto asked.

Remy heard something softly thump down on the table before him, the Professor had given him toast. He felt about and found a triangular slice. "Other than what _you_ can do wit' it? Other than _usin'_ it t' evolve mutants? Other than it bein' what makes _Juggernaut_ the way he is?"

"Yes," Magneto responded quickly.

"It can _prevent_ y' powers...if y' use it in the right way...accordin' t' the guy I was workin' for."

"Who is this _man_ you were working for?"

"He wouldn' give me his name. He said a _name_ would give me too much power over him."

The Professor sighed at this.

"The shards of the original gem could be used to evolve mutants subject to its own unique radiation," Magneto admitted, "however, after being thrown through space, they've been subject to certain _changes_, changes which have left the shards themselves unstable and dangerous in the wrong hands."

"You experienced something through these shards?" asked Professor Xavier.

"Myself, and whoever came in to the vicinity of the shards over extended periods of time began to experience _changes_ in themselves. Over a rather short period of time..." explained Magneto. "Hostility...emotional distress...a sense of hopelessness. The shards left anyone who had been exposed to their radiation feeling as _unstable_ as the molecules in the shards were. Some would try to harm themselves, others would lash out at anyone in their way."

Remy spoke up, "did you have any...side effects?"

"I kept my own shards near me at all times – too afraid to let them fall into the wrong hands. I barely slept, I barely ate, I became obsessed with things that were trivial, feelings that I may have once had were amplified and inappropriate. My anger was explosive, if I was angry with someone, it was violent anger, and unwarranted. But I did not see this...my thinking was...rational to myself, I was burgeoning on raving lunacy and yet I saw logic in my tantrums, in my reactions and plans..."

"How did you discover the shards were unstable?" Professor Xavier asked curiously; Remy heard the sound of him delicately sipping from his own cup.

Magneto sighed, "My children...my children led me to seeing that something was wrong."

"They became unstable too?"

"Initially, I did not see it. Wanda..."

Remy spoke up, "Wanda is already...unstable."

Magneto seemed offended by the comment, regardless of the truth to it, "Wanda _was_ unstable," his voice was thick. "However...strangely, her mental stability seemed to be improving. Her tantrums, her tendency to be angry...this dissipated. And I had _assumed_ this was to do with the therapy she had been undergoing at the time..." he explained. "Pietro however..."

"What happened to Pietro?"

"Pietro began to suddenly show the signs of serious mental illness..." Magneto despaired, "his confidence began to fail him. He would rant uncontrollably at minor insignificant things. He too, would barely eat or sleep, and he would pick arguments for what would seem to be for no reason other than for the sake of arguing. For a time, he became obsessed with a young woman whom he followed and spied on for days on end. His admissions of _love_ were extreme and uncharacteristic, but at the time, I overlooked these things. My own mindset affected by the shards so much that I was oblivious to them...until the night that Pietro tried to kill himself..."

Remy felt a strange knot in his stomach twisting. Although he had no feelings of friendship for Pietro Maximoff, he couldn't help but ask, "is he alright?"

"He has recovered since."

Uneasily, Remy forced himself to ask, "can...can I ask...how he tried to...to..." he cleared his throat, "do it?"

Magneto paused, it seemed to be a sore point to ask.

"It's relevant," said the Professor quietly.

"He tried to throw himself from the roof of a building. If it had not been for the fact he has metal pins in his shoulder from a surgery, I would have _not_ been able to save him in time."

Remy felt queasy, he put his toast back down and took a long drink from his cup to wash down the rise of vomit that had almost forced its way up.

"Although I managed to prevent him from falling, the yank of my powers catching him from the fall had damaged his shoulder, the pin had almost come out of the skin. While he was in hospital recovering from the surgery to correct the problem, myself and Wanda discovered a suicide note, one that went on for pages. Apologies to _everyone_ he had wronged...there was a page dedicated to Todd Tolanski apologising for the months of systematic bullying...a page dedicated to the X-Men apologising for his causing you trouble..."

Remy would have blinked had he been able to see.

"While Pietro was in hospital, away from myself and the shards, he recovered fully, but it was not until his return home did he begin to exhibit signs of mental strain and depression again. And then, the shards got so hot, they burned my hip, where they had been in a pocket attached to a belt..." Magneto sighed, "and then I understood at once...how unstable these shards were...what they had been doing..."

The Professor sighed too, "this seems to have happened in this case too, Magnus," he admitted. "Remy's mental state...attempted suicide...uncharacteristic behaviour..." he reeled off.

Remy turned to the Professor's direction, "y' mean...I'm gon' get _better? _I'm gon' _feel_ better?"

"Possibly...if that is what has happened here," admitted the Professor.

"So...what now?" asked Remy.

"I had planned in sending you to Dr. Sinatra again today," Professor Xavier said after a moment, "but if this new information is indeed correct – and I have no doubts that it is – then waiting to see if your mental health improves without treatment may be the next course of action. As long as you understand...you will be under observation by myself and Magnus until we are convinced of your improvement."

Oddly, Remy found himself wishing that he could run to Rogue to tell her of this news, that he may not be crazy, that they had been _wrong_. That what he'd tried to do the other night hadn't been his fault. But then, another thought began to pester him almost immediately.

Had his feelings for Rogue been real? Had this been what he'd called _love_? Or...had it been the influence of radiation from unstable molecules in the shards of mystical gems? He wasn't sure he _would_ know now. If Rogue had left to go back to Bayville, how would he be able to go to her and wait in her presence to see if he felt anything at all?

_No...don' think that. You've _always_ cared about her. You wouldn't have gone through all this t' help her if y' _hadn't_ cared,_ he told himself sternly.

"Is...something wrong?" asked the Professor concernedly. Remy realised the expression of his face might have been one of extreme realisation.

Remy pushed himself to ask. He didn't want to, especially not in front of Magneto. But if Magneto could admit all that he had just admitted in front of him, Remy realised he had very little to lose himself right now. "All the feelin's I've had lately...is it possible I didn' feel any of them at all? I mean...really feel them...that they weren' jus'...made up by what the shards were doin' t' my mind?"

The Professor gave a resounding sigh, "Honestly, Remy. I'm unsure at this point...which is why you should be under observation..."

Remy wasn't sure the Professor understood the question. He'd been trying to ask _'do I really love Rogue', _but the point had been missed entirely. He thought of how to reword it but before he could arrange the words in his head before speaking, a cell phone began to ring.

"Excuse me," said the Professor politely, Remy heard him moving away from the table and disappearing into his bedroom in the suite to answer the phone privately.

Remy sat in silence for a moment; the voice of the Professor was too muffled by the door for Remy to know exactly what was being said.

"Are you relieved?"

"Hmm?" Remy asked, he had been trying to listen for anything in the Professor's conversation in the next room and had almost forgotten Magneto was still there. "Oh...I uhm..." he felt oddly flustered.

"You do not seem relieved to know that your condition may improve."

Remy chewed the inside of his cheek, "I'm relieved. 'Course I'm relieved."

Magneto contemplated for a moment, he sipped from his coffee and then spoke again. "When Pietro was in recovery...he began to question things too."

"He did?"

"He remembered most of what he had done. He even remembered the logical thinking behind his attempted suicide," said Magneto; Remy couldn't help but hear the hurt in the man's voice as he spoke of his son this way. "But he questioned whether these thoughts had _been_ there to begin with. Had he really been sorry to Todd for bullying him? Had he ever been attracted to the young woman he stalked?"

"What'd he come up with as an answer?" Remy asked, trying to hide his despair.

"That the feelings he experienced came from a seed of truth. He may have felt a tiny part of guilt over the things he'd done. He may have felt a passing attraction..." Magneto explained. "These feelings were amplified by the exposure to the shards. And after all I have been told...I believe you suffered the same."

"Oh."

"Your feelings...for Rogue..." Magneto began, "do you question them?"

Remy wasn't sure he wanted to have a heart to heart with Magneto; after all, the man had never shown much interest in his thoughts before. He had been the ringer in Magneto's band of Acolytes, the knuckles for hire. He hadn't been asked ever before about his thoughts, and he hadn't ever felt the need to share them. He felt ever so slightly betrayed right now that the Professor must have told him about his reactions to Rogue's presence.

"If...what y' said is right..." he began, "and...all these...feelin's were _amplified_ jus' like y' said...then that means...I really _do_ have it in me t' be...so unstable..." Remy's stomach flipped like a pancake six feet above a frying pan. "I have it in me t' be so...obsessed with Rogue. I have it in me t' be so...willin' t' throw my life away for her..."

"In amplification," Magneto theorised.

"That's jus' it," Remy leaned forward and placed his elbows upon the table – rude or not – and put his head in them. "I _could_ feel this...I could feel it _again_..."

"Unwarranted or not, those feelings will always be there. Ready to grow and expand...or to shrink and dissipate completely. Right now...it is too early to ask yourself if what you have felt is genuine or not. It is time to work on recovering. When your mind has healed...the answers will be easy to obtain."

Remy turned, hearing the sound of the Professor's room door opening, the electric wheelchair buzzing the Professor moved across the room.

"The call was from Dr. Lain, Remy," said Professor Xavier as he took his place back at the table. "He's requested whether or not we can stop in this afternoon for a talk before his office closes for the New Year."

Remy had forgotten about New Year. He had forgotten the day, and the time of morning. "Does that mean that I'm eligible for treatment? That I might get my sight back?"

"The appointment would suggest a positive outlook," suggested the Professor.

"Don't go," Magneto said quietly, he sipped his coffee again.

"Huh?" Remy turned to Magneto's direction and frowned.

Professor Xavier seemed to sit forward, "pardon?"

Magneto gave a soft grunt, "our phone call last night. You mentioned having recently spoken to Giles Radcliffe and him having referred to you to Dr. Ethan Lain."

"Who's that?" Remy spoke up.

"A former colleague of ours," the Professor answered. "Giles was the doctor who got me the contact information for Dr. Lain through a colleague of his."

"When you mentioned Giles name, I realised something was wrong," Magneto explained, "being that I attended the funeral for Giles Radcliffe in the September of 2009."

Professor Xavier gave a quiet gasp.

"Giles is dead. And when you mentioned him, I understood that somewhere, somehow, someone had gotten wind of your _looking_ for a doctor to repair the damage Cyclops had done to Gambit's eyes," Magneto stated. "So I went through _my_ resources. I can find nothing in medical journals about him, and I could find no references to which colleges he had attended. His website domain was only recently purchased through an untraceable credit card; references to which schools he attended are on his online resume but when I called at eight this morning, they had never heard of him. All other online articles about him were recent, the webmasters of these webpages I discovered had reported being recently hacked..."

"So y' tellin' us...this guy...is a fraud?" Remy swallowed.

"Did you not check up on this so-called Doctor?" asked Magneto.

"Giles had assured me that he was _the best_ in his field. I even spoke to his colleague Jason Graham who had given me the information to contact him."

"I am unsure of who you spoke to, but I _am sure _it was _not_ Giles. Do _not_ go back to that office to meet with Lain. Instead, take my advice and do some checking," Magneto warned, "and get out of Boston quickly. If this man is not who he says he is, then he could be dangerous."

"I had plans to move on to Washington following our time here," the Professor admitted.

"No. You must _not_ go to Washington. Your movements are public, and you are too much of an easy target in Washington if this _Ethan Lain_ should try to approach. Return to Bayville, increase your security and stay alert."

Remy heard Magneto standing up.

"I must go for now. I will be in Bayville by the second of January," Magneto informed, "if you need any other information, do not hesitate to call me."

Remy listened as the Professor and Magneto moved to the door; he heard them quietly whispering outside in the hall but it was too quiet for him to make out.

Instead he tried to focus on his own feelings rather than listening to what the men outside the door were saying. He still felt sick. His hopes of being able to see were completely dashed now even if he had been giving the whole ordeal second thoughts. And the revelations of what the shards had done still left him positively reeling.

Whatever happened now, it seemed he would be going back to Bayville regardless of choice...and indeed, he would be going back to Rogue after all.

_So much for the separation,_ he thought dully.

* * *

End of Part 29

* * *

Two updates in one day...shocking, right? Ah, I agree, the previous chapter _was_ a bit short but never mind, this one is a little longer anyway. Hope you all enjoy and thanks to everyone for their reviews. It's nice to hear from you all again! 3


	30. Part 30

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 30**

**Tea & Honey**

* * *

Rogue had felt as if she had barely lay her head down on the cool armrest of the leather couch in the recreation room when she heard the heavy thud of the foyer door as it shut. She leaned up, feeling dazed as she brushed a sleep crust from her right eye, trying to remember where she was and why she was there. Then it all began to quickly come back to her.

After her flight alone, Hank McCoy had picked her up at the airport having just returned from his family Christmas. On the car ride back to the Institute, he'd had questions – far too many too many of them which had left her head spinning as she'd tried to tiredly recount what she knew about the shards and Remy's intent for them. Upon returning to the Xavier mansion, she'd dumped her bag in the foyer, and headed straight for the rec room; she was too exhausted to even climb the stairs to go to bed.

And now...she was being woken up by the noise of the front doors. Her eyes moved to the wall clock – had she really slept for ten hours? She pushed herself up from the couch, rolling her head to work a crick out of her neck and padded in her Halloween-themed socks to the hallway and followed it to the foyer, still groggy and unsure.

It shocked her to find the Professor was there, brushing snow away from the rim of his brown hat, his nose slightly red from the cold.

"Professor..." she gasped; She caught sight of Remy, somewhere behind the wheelchair; he'd been stooped over untying his shoes which had become soaked thanks to the deep snow. Her heart seemed to leap in her chest at the sight of Remy, nose red, cheeks wind-bitten, hair sprinkled with snow, hanging in damp tendrils around his pink face. "Remy..." she whispered, holding back her urge to run to him and throw her arms around him. She had never been more glad to see him but at once she recognised her reaction...it would be inappropriate...especially after yesterday.

"The gates are so badly snowed in that the driver couldn't get the gates open wide enough to pull through so we had to make our own way," the Professor replied grumpily, "it took some time to get up the driveway with the ice and snow."

Rogue rushed over to help the Professor remove his coat, "what's goin' on? Ah thought you were stayin' in Boston," she threw a glance over to Remy, who was yanking his shoes off and then his soaking wet socks in succession.

"It was the intention, but we were advised to change our plans," explained the Professor, he shivered.

Rogue hung up the Professor's coat upon the coat rack and placed his hat upon it, "Ah don't understand," she admitted.

"We shall explain in due time," said the Professor, "first, I would very much like a hot cup of Earl Grey with honey...if you would be so kind? We shall be in the formal living room."

"Okay..." Rogue nodded, "Remy, do you need me to take your coat?" she asked quietly.

Remy said nothing, he yanked his coat off awkwardly and hung it up after a moment of fumbling to find the rack. Rogue, feeling slightly dejected, took off towards the kitchen to make the tea.

She couldn't believe it. She'd believed in her heart and soul that yesterday evening would have been the last she had ever seen of Remy LeBeau. She'd been told to go to her room and pack after the Professor had mentioned going to call Magneto and it had been the last she had seen of Remy – he'd gone back to the Professor's suite in her absence. The plane had left promptly last night, she hadn't said goodbye; Logan hadn't allowed her the chance. She wondered if Remy was partly mad because of this, or if he was actually mad at all?

She filled the teapot, gathered all the other necessary items, cups, saucers, the honey, the lemon, the sugar, and some of the English cookies – or biscuits, as the label claimed – that the Professor was so fond of and put them on a tray to take to the formal living room. There was already a fire crackling away, and Hank McCoy was already in there, along with the Professor, and Remy. Rogue placed the tray upon the coffee table, and began to pass out the cups of tea, listening to the Professor's recount of trying to travel up the driveway with Remy pushing him.

"The ice is terrible and the snow was thick; the motor in my chair died as I tried to get through it, so Remy had to force me the rest of the way up the drive; it took some time to get up. Several times we slid back down together..." the Professor explained. "Had it not been so cold, the whole situation might have been quite comical."

"I'm surprised you didn't call my cell to ask for me to come help," Hank admitted.

"My cellphone died during the journey; I spent a great deal of time talking on it last night so the battery ran out rather quickly and in my haste to pack and leave as Magneto had suggested I forgot to charge the blasted thing," the Professor lamented. "I would have sent a telepathic request of course, but my head is feeling rather tender today and using my powers always turns headaches into migraines – a struggle up the driveway is much more agreeable."

"I'll have the drive cleared as soon as possible – and I'll be happy to fix the motor on your chair," offered Hank.

"Thank you," Professor Xavier responded to Hank, and then once again as Rogue handed him a cup of tea.

"So," Rogue said anxiously, "what happened?"

The Professor stirred his tea, he said nothing for a moment and blew on the cup instead. Rogue poured a cup for Remy, although she was unsure if he would drink it, or even accept it.

It was Remy to break the silence in the room that had been filled only with the crackling of the fire in the hearth. "Y' were right."

Rogue blinked, "hmm?" she asked.

"'Bout Lain," said Remy. "He was a fraud...'far as we can tell."

"Oh..." Rogue chewed her lip. Part of her that had always wanted to say 'Ah Told You So' to someone had quickly dissipated. She hadn't wanted to be right, not really. She had wished secretly that Dr. Lain might have been the answer, even if she hadn't agreed with the statistics or the idea of the treatment. "Do...you like sugar...or honey."

"Honey," Remy replied quietly, his eyes pointed to the floor as if he were burning a hole through the carpet with his intense ruby on onyx eyes.

Rogue spooned honey into his cup and brought it over to him, he held his hands flat open and she led the saucer to them, "here..."

"How'd y' know?" he asked with a sigh.

"Hmm?" she asked.

"That he was a fraud...?"

"Ah didn't..." she confessed, "Ah just...Ah didn't trust his statistics. Ah didn't trust him with _you._"

Remy gave a sigh, "well...y' were right. Shoulda listened t' y' instincts...it woulda saved us the trouble o' goin' t' Boston."

Rogue poured Hank a cup of tea, "so what now?" she asked of the Professor as she handed Hank his cup and saucer.

"Now...we need to find out more about the shards," the Professor explained. "Right now, they're with Logan, in a secret location. Magneto will be here in a few days to advise us more about the shards, and to help us deal with other matters directly."

"Magneto...will be here...?" Rogue raised an eyebrow. "_Stayin'_ with us?"

"Indeed," said the Professor, he sipped his tea. "There is much to do, much to discuss."

Rogue listened to the Professor and Hank discussing possible ways to tackle researching the effects of the shards; she didn't understand what they were talking about, she was unsure what they meant by effects.

After Remy had drank half the cup, he felt around to place it up on the coffee table, and then gave a deep sigh as if he had come to some terrible conclusion. Rogue glanced over at him from where she'd been sitting in a chair silent for the past twenty minutes. "Rogue," said Remy, "can we talk?"

The Professor, nor Hank, seemed to even hear Remy's request, and Rogue bit her cheek as she stood, "okay."

They left the room together, Remy following the edge of the wainscotting around the room to the door and out to the hall. Remy continued to walk down the hall, and Rogue shut the living room door and followed him quickly, sucking up the nerves that were trying to escape from her throat.

"What's up?" she asked.

"We got t' talk. It's important," he answered.

"Oh?"

He stopped at the end of the hall, where the foyer was, and leaned against the wall there, he folded his arms. "What happened..." he sighed, "what happened in Boston was...it was fucked up..." he admitted, "really fucked up."

Rogue looked up at him curiously; even remembering the events brought a mist to her eyes.

"I dunno if they _tol' y' _what happened, I dunno if when the Prof called Hank this mornin', if he tol' him what Magneto tol' us," Remy mumbled, "t' be honest, I dunno _what _got tol' t' anyone at this point..."

"Remy...what are you talkin' about?" Rogue asked concernedly.

"What happened out there..." Remy sighed, "It's..." he frowned, his expression told her he was trying to search for the proper explanation, "it _wasn'_ me...that guy...it _wasn' _me...my mind was bein'..._warped._ The things I said...things I did...I wasn't _myself_...y' need t' know that."

"Huh?"

"Those shards...they make people unstable...volatile...it's what Magneto tell us...it happened t' him...t' Quicksilver..." Remy explained, "_anyone_ who come in t' contact t' it over too much time gets...messed up in the head...angry...sad...maybe suicidal..."

Rogue drew a breath, "This mornin' it was all Ah could think about...that the shards were the cause...that they had to be..."

"I've _never_ acted that way before..."

"Ah know."

"I never _felt_ so..." he trailed off, he seemed unable to name the feeling. "I think...maybe the shards might have started t' do the same t' you...it might be the reason we kept _arguin'...'cause..._they make y' _volatile_..."

After thinking about this, she wondered if it were true? Had she ever felt different? Other than perhaps her outburst at Logan last night, she could think of no other examples of feeling odd or emotionally disturbed.

"Anyway...it seems like...when Logan take those shards away...suddenly my head startin' t' feel...clearer...like I'm wakin' up...and I'm startin' t' feel...different. _Better. _Startin' t' think straighter already..."

With a sigh, somewhat of relief, Rogue stared to the floor, trying to absorb the information she'd been given. It certainly made sense that the shards _had_ been the cause of his tendencies. He'd been fine sometimes, but other times – times she realised she had been carrying those shards – he had been behaving rather oddly. Especially when he'd tried to throw himself off of the balcony. Those shards had been barely ten feet away. And then yesterday when he'd tried to kiss her...the shards had been merely centimetres from him; his hip had pressed against hers at that moment and those shards and fabric had been all that was between them.

"God, this is my fault..." she realised, "Ah should have taken those shards to the Professor...Ah should have-"

"I should have tol' y' long ago what they were...it might have made _sense_...It might have dawned upon us what they do..." he stopped her. "Y' can't blame y'self...wasn' y' fault. Was mine..."

Rogue raised her eyes to him once again, "Ah still can't believe you did this...to...to what...cure me?"

"It was stupid, chere, I _know_ that."

"Do my powers matter that _much_?" she asked, she couldn't deny the hurt at the thought. "They matter _so _much that you had to _cure_ me?"

"No...it wasn' that. It was..." his eyes averted from her, regardless of his blindness. "It..." he tried and failed to explain.

"It was what? You wanted laid?"

"No..." he shook his head, "I _don't_ care 'bout that. It don't matter t' me if we never...what I mean is, if it never _went_ that far, I wouldn't _care_. But..."

"But what?"

"Would it make y' mad if I said I thought y' wouldn't have me any other way?"

Rogue gaped at him.

"I was right...wasn't I?" he pointed out. "It's what y' tol' me...here...and in Boston...that if we couldn' _be_ together because of y' powers...that they would _always_ be between us..."

Honestly, she wasn't sure how to respond. The mixture of hurt and anger and confusion over the past few days still remained, and since last night she'd been weighing the question in her mind. It had been all that she'd been able to think about on the plane ride...it had been haunting her in her sleep on the couch.

"I know y' mad at me...but right now we got bigger problems. This...Doctor Lain guy...he don' even exist as far as Magneto can tell. The guy who suggest him t' the Professor...he dead...long before the Prof got the phone call suggestin' Lain. That guy...he knew I was blind...knew who I was..." Remy drew a breath.

"Who do you think he was?"

"Chere...I dunno..." Remy shook his head. "He _could_ be anyone. Fuck, I don't even know what he _look_ like," he confessed.

Rogue tilted her head, trying to remember, "He looked...like your average geeky lookin' forty year old..." she recalled. "He was pale...pasty...dark hair...dark eyes...really dark...black...you couldn't even see his pupils..." she paused, "there was this _one_ little weird thing about him..." she added, "when he frowned...he had this...odd scar, kind of pink and faded...it made it look like this sort of diamond shape right between his eyebrows...

Remy gaped at her, his mouth hung open, he seemed in utter disbelief.

"What is it?"

Remy turned and headed back towards the formal living room, Rogue rushed to follow him; she called out to him but he didn't respond. Remy threw the formal living room door open and announced to the Professor and Hank, "he's the same guy."

Rogue nearly bumped into him as he stopped, she glanced around him to see the surprised looks on the Professor's and Hank's faces.

"Pardon?" Hank asked, a teacup raised an inch below his lips, large pinkie raised delicately.

"He's the same guy!" Remy repeated, he moved in, Rogue at his heels, "He's the same guy! Lain! He's the guy I was workin' for...the guy who wanted the shards..."

The Professor put his cup down, "you recognised his voice?"

"No...he spoke with a different voice...different accent, actually...I would have _never_ known..." Remy explained, sounding almost excited, "but Rogue's description of him...it's him. He had a scar...I'd forgotten up until she mentioned it. It was a diamond...a pink shape like someone had hit him between the eyebrows with an arrow...y'know?"

The Professor frowned, "yes...Dr. Lain did possess such a scar...I couldn't help but find myself staring at it as I tried to fathom what could have caused such a scar..."

"Whoever this _Lain_ is, he wants those shards..." Hank realised.

"At least we know the shards are safe – as long as he doesn't locate Logan," the Professor stated calmly..

"Will Logan be alright...with those shards?" Rogue asked carefully. "We saw what they were doin' to Remy..."

"Logan is probably the only person alive who can withstand what those shards can do," Hank assured, "alone out there, he'll have no one to pick fights with except himself and _should_ he feel the urge to harm himself, he will heal."

"What now, Professor?" asked Rogue worriedly.

"Now...we must increase security, and ensure this Dr. Lain does _not_ get his hands on those shards. Such a weapon would be devastating."

"What will I do?" spoke up Remy.

"For now, we cannot risk sending you to the Bayville school for the Blind..." Professor Xavier explained. "Right now it would be too much of a risk. We can't always have one of us chaperone you there, and you'd be too much of an easy target in such a place...not to mention it may put humans at risk in the process."

Rogue could tell just by Remy's expression that the plans for sending him to school for the blind was _not_ a problem for the young man. Or perhaps it was just that there were more pressing matters.

Professor Xavier took a moment for consideration, "Already, I can see that the exposure of the shards had caused your volatile emotional state and that now that they have been removed your condition is improving which means you will be able to work with others without conflict. Ororo will return soon, and I would like you to train with her in the Danger Room so that you have the basic ability to survive should we end up under attack."

Remy tilted his head and paused for thought, "what about working with Rogue?" he asked. "She could train me until Ororo gets back..."

The Professor sighed, "for the moment, I would rather you and Rogue remain slightly distanced – you still may remain friends of course, and socialise with each other...but only with supervision."

Rogue rolled her eyes at this. Supervision meant even more awkwardness than there already would be. Perhaps it _was _advisable to distance themselves for the moment after all.

"But...I feel _fine_ now that the shards are gone," Remy assured the Professor.

"That may be...but this is a precaution. We are still quite unaware of how much these shards did affect your minds...and whether there will be any lingering damage. Extra care must be taken to be _sure_ that you aren't under these effects before you shall be allowed to socialise unsupervised. Too many incidents have occurred that I should have made these precautions long ago."

Rogue placed a hand on Remy's arm, "he's right. We don't _know _if there's any after-effects. The shards didn't always make you feel crazy...there were some times when you weren't...volatile...even when you were exposed to them," she admitted, "and Ah _know_ Ah didn't always feel the same either when they were near me. It could be that the effects come and go...we need to be careful."

Remy sighed in defeat, "I guess y' right," he finally gave in. "We need t' be careful."

"Come, we have plans to make," said the Professor. "We must increase security as soon as possible; Rogue I would like you to keep an eye on the security monitors while Hank and myself make adjustments. There may be gaps in the systems until we have reset the alarms."

"Okay," Rogue agreed.

"What can I do?" Remy asked awkwardly.

"Take some time to rest and focus on remembering _anything_ you think will help us make sure that this Doctor Lain does not get his hands on those shards."

Rogue glanced towards Remy and caught that worried look. She didn't mention it and without saying anything, left to go help the Professor and Hank with their measures.

* * *

**End of Part 30**

* * *

Thanks to everyone for their reviews! I of course am delighted that alot of you predicted who Doctor Lain is! Kudos to ALLREMS by the way for unscrambling the name Ethan Lain and coming to 'Nathaniel'. I was wondering how long it would take for someone to pick up on that, lol (I wasn't sure if it was TOO obvious or not, haha).

Anyway hope you all enjoyed this installment and I look forward to hearing from you all. Oh and thanks to the new readers who've joined us and seem to be enjoying the story. I'm so glad you find the story original and I'm sorry for keeping so many of you up at night 3


	31. Part 31

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 31**

**Sinister**

* * *

A loud crash awakened Remy LeBeau from his slumber. He sat bolt upright, a shudder escaping his lips. The cold in the bedroom became immediately apparent and he couldn't remember ever feeling so cold before; as if a blanket of pure liquid ice had wrapped around him and become part of his skin, leaving him chilled to the bone. The sound came again; this time he realised that what he'd heard had not been a crash but had been the sudden fast roll of near thunder.

The sound against the window told him that the snow had turned to hail and it was pelting across the glass as if determined to get in, to attack him with all its fierce icy might. There was a lump in his throat, and he was unsure why; he felt as if he might have been dreaming but he couldn't remember exactly what about.

A shifting in his bedroom told him he was _not_ alone.

"Rogue?" he asked hopefully.

The only sound that followed was breathing.

In the month he had been living with the X-Men, he had grown quickly accustomed to their sounds, their scents, their pace when walking...but more than anything, their breathing. With utter silence Remy could tell if Rogue was there with her long thoughtful inhales and soft almost sad sighing exhale. He knew Hank's breathing with that deep draw in and short yet somehow pleasant just barely audible growl, and Professor Xavier's rhythmic nasal breathing that almost seemed to indicate a once broken nose.

And it was because of this that right now, at this precise moment, he knew for absolute certain that whoever was in his room, watching him from the far corner was _not_ a member of this household. This sound, this person standing there breathed as if they might be taking in every gasp of air through a long metal tube and exhaling some kind of hissing gas. To Remy, it didn't even sound _human_...that kind of sound could _not_ come through human vocal chords.

Remy couldn't explain the intense fear that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand firmly; it prickled and made him want to twitch in response. He held onto himself, mustered up the courage and spoke. "Who is that?"

A soft step, near the window it seemed. Judging by how cold the room had become, it seemed the window was open. "You have failed."

The voice was familiar and at the same time distinctly different. Chills travelled down Remy's spine as he realised his employer was standing merely feet away. How had he even set foot on the property without setting off the elaborate security system or even activating the new alarms that Hank and the Professor had spent programming all evening? A _mouse_ could pass gas fifty feet from the mansion and that alarm would go off...so how had the man come inside without triggering a single thing?

"How did you get in here?" Remy demanded, he clenched his fists; the blanket felt warm beneath his fingers and momentarily he was unsure if he were charging it up to use as a makeshift weapon should he be under attack.

"Where are the shards?" his employer asked; his tone was almost polite but Remy could detect that hint of underhandedness about it.

"As if I would tell you," Remy tried to force his voice into sounding louder, he hoped someone would hear him and come running to find out who he was talking to. But Logan was not home to pick up his voice with his keen heightened hearing, and Hank would be downstairs probably still working on security measures.

It seemed barely a millisecond had passed and he felt himself pressed up against the headboard, his throat in a vice-like grip. "_Do not test me!" _his employer warned in a sharp metallic hiss. "Now _where_ are the shards?"

Remy struggled to swallow beneath the pressure; he felt slightly light-headed from the lack of oxygen already. Desperately he tried to pry the grip from his throat to feel what seemed like cold metal fingers curled around his throat. Still trying to release his throat with his right hand, he swatted out with his left in the hope he might knock something on the bedside cabinet over and make a noise to alert the X-Men, but his hand brushed nothing but empty space. His heart thumped harder as it tried to push blood to his brain, his lungs tightened and his head swam as if he were spinning on a too-fast teacup ride. The breath of his employer was heavy, excited; Remy got the distinct impression the man was studying him...enjoying his reaction to the pain and desperation for breath.

Helplessness had never been so close to Remy. He knew _how _to escape and yet none of the moves he'd been taught to escape such a grasp seemed to work. Perhaps it was his blindness, perhaps he really _did _need his sight to know how to properly defend himself after all. He writhed and struggled and each shifting of his weight only seemed to encourage the grip on his throat to grow even tighter. Blindly he forced his left hand out to try and gouge out the eyes of this strangler but his fingers only touched what felt like icy steel.

_Don't give in,_ his thoughts pleaded with him. Two days ago, he might have been willing to let himself die, but now...he was only aware that if he _did_ he may be leaving the others in a very vulnerable position of _not_ knowing that their security was absolutely compromised and that this villain knew _exactly_ where they lived. _ Don't let yourself die...you need to warn them...you can't let him get those shards._

Finally, feeling close to passing out, somehow Remy managed to croak out an answer. "I don't know where," He decided to take the risk in neglecting to mention that Logan had them somewhere far away that even he didn't know where. That was _too_ much information.

The icy cold fingers released him and Remy dropped to the mattress, he gasped for breath and coughed, having a hard time catching air back into his lungs again. _Why can't they hear me?_ Remy wondered desperately as he choked on the rush of air.

"Find them," commanded the bastard.

"How?" Remy spluttered, he coughed so hard he was sure something in his throat tore. He sat up straight and massaged his throat before speaking again. "I can't find my own fuckin' _hand_ in front of my face, _Doctor Lain_!"

A biting chuckle seemed to echo across the room; it made Remy's flesh tingle unpleasantly. "Sinister," he stated coldly. "You find the shards. Or I will tear _everything_ you care about apart to find them myself. Starting with _her._"

Remy felt as if for that moment, his heart might have stopped beating in his chest. Something hit him hard in the face; it seemed to batter him right in at the bridge of his nose and between the eyes, like a hard rock or a firm punch and he cried out in agony; there was a taste of blood that seemed to come from the back of his throat.

He had not realised he was on the floor until he felt the rough thick pile of the rug beneath his cheek. The chill from the open window swept across the room and he felt the presence of the doctor was gone. He swallowed the taste of blood back and leaned up a little; he felt weakened and dazed. Footsteps down the hall suddenly became apparent, and the sound of the door creaking as it opened.

"Remy? Are you all right? Ah heard a loud thump-!"

Remy rolled over and immediately something horrible washed over him; a blinding hot burning white light seared his eyelids as if someone had pushed hot pokers into each one simultaneously. Throwing his hands up to his eyes he cried out in agony and tried to bury his face into the rug.

"Remy!" he heard Rogue gasp, he felt her hands on his shoulders gripping firmly, "Remy, what is it?"

"It burns!" he screamed hysterically, "my eyes!"

"What is it?"

"The white! Make it stop!"

He heard her confused silence as he writhed in the agony of his alternate blindness, and the he heard her quick light footsteps and the darkness fell once again. Sighing in relief, he leaned up, his face still throbbing, his eyes still smarting. "What the fuck was that-?" he asked, near tears of pain.

"Ah..." she stammered, "Ah turned on the light..."

* * *

End of Part 31

* * *

Thanks to everyone for their constant reviews and well-wishes for the story. it's good to hear from you all! I hope you're all having a good christmas/or whatever you celebrate in December if you celebrate at all (or if you're not celebrating anything I hope you're all well!). I know this was a short installment, I have a few more to come at some point soon, so don't worry :)

Love you all, 3


	32. Part 32

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 32**

**I Saw the Light**

* * *

Remy didn't understand what had happened; somewhere in the seconds between the _Doctor's_ final attack and Rogue's rushing into that room _something_ had changed. From the day that he'd lost his sight, he'd seen nothing but infinite darkness; a blackness that nothing had seemed capable of penetrating. This _whiteness_, this painful seething burning brightness had been an unpredictable and frightening change.

Was Doctor Lain punishing him further for his disobedience for his intention to _not_ bring the shards to him? It had to be related. It couldn't just be _coincidence_ that this bastard had shown up and suddenly his blindness had taken a strange new direction.

He was in the very place he'd been sitting a month ago when he'd been told he'd lost his sight. It was almost as if it had come full circle and he was back at the beginning again...only everything had escalated so much further. He felt gentle prodding at his eyes which felt sore and stung worse than they had when he'd first been injured.

Travelling down the hall with Rogue even in the reportedly low lighting had been a painful experience that had left him with tears of torture sliding down his cheeks. His eyes were still smarting from the experience and when Hank McCoy had shone a doctor's light in his left eye; it had been utter torment as if someone had forced a knife through the eye straight to his brain. Even in the _low light_ that Hank claimed he was examining him under was painful to sit through and made him want to squeeze his eyes shut permanently and cover his eyes with a blindfold. He'd never thought he would really _miss_ the dark but right now it seemed more inviting than it ever had.

"It's absolutely baffling," said Hank, sounding rather mesmerised. "Light perception...so...suddenly. And all you did was fall out of the bed?"

Remy sheepishly nodded; he wondered if his nose had bled from the impact. No one had mentioned yet. He supposed he should have told the truth about what had happened; that he'd been attacked. Instead, the thoughts of what Doctor Lain _could_ do should he reveal the truth haunted him.

"Your eyes are very inflamed and swollen," Hank admitted, he gently prodded at the lid of the left eye. "And it's steadily increasing. By morning you'll look like you've fought a few rounds with Mike Tyson. It looks very painful."

"It is," Remy groaned. "Everytime it's touched it's..." he winced, "fuckin' agony," he finally managed miserably.

"Ah've put a gel eye-mask out in the snow to freeze for a little bit," Rogue spoke up from somewhere in the room; Remy could hear the exhaustion in her voice and felt almost guilty for being the cause of so much of it. "It'll help soothe the burnin' a little."

_She's so thoughtful. I probably don' deserve it,_ Remy thought dully as he flinched under Hank McCoy's delicate prodding and prying; Hank pried the right eye open and shone his light in; Remy gasped and gripped the edge of the examination couch hard and had to refrain from wanting to punch the guy. Lava being poured into each eye would be less painful than _this._

"Is...it possible my sight _may _be comin' back?" Remy asked hopefully. "I mean, if I saw the light...it mus' be a sign, right?"

"I do not want to build your hopes up," Hank paused, "this is so sudden that it is unwise to jump to conclusions," he let go of the eyelid and turned the flashlight off. "Your pupils are hugely dilated which would let in far more light than your eyes should; the pupil dilates in darker conditions so that your eyes adjust allowing you to see better but will contract in brighter conditions to avoid your being blinded by brightness. In this case, the pupils are unresponsive to light...which does indicate your eyes are still not functioning correctly. However...I will admit...the fact that you are perceiving light at all is a sign that some change is taking place...but whether this change is positive or not, I can't say."

Remy sighed and squeezed his stinging eyes shut after Hank applied some drops; he felt the Beast place something on his face and reached up to feel what seemed to be a sleeping mask of sorts.

"You may need to wear this until we can find some very dark glasses for you. When the sun rises, you will find yourself unable to avoid the light which you say is causing you such discomfort," Hank explained. "I know you are eager to get _out_ of the darkness, but I am sorry you shall have to prolong it a little longer for now."

"It's okay," Remy assured, "I get it. I rather be stuck in th' dark a lil' longer than be in white hot pain."

"Ah'm gonna check and see if that mask is cold enough yet," Rogue announced before leaving the room. Remy wished she'd stayed; he felt uneasy at the thought of her wandering the mansion around by herself after the Doctor had managed to let himself in with ease. He could still _be _there somewhere, waiting to harm her at any given moment.

"Remy," said Hank, "what are these marks on your neck?" Hank's large hand gingerly prodded at Remy's neck and Remy had to still himself from flinching away; the area had grown tender very quickly. "This looks...fresh."

"Marks?" Remy played it innocent and hoped he was convincing, "what marks."

"A little redness here..." Remy felt the silky brush of the rubber gloves trail across his throat. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like someone throttled you..."

"Does it?" Remy croaked.

"The odd thing is..." Hank cleared his throat a little, "is that when you first come in this room, I did _not_ notice these marks."

"Oh."

"Which suggests these are appearing...that you may be even _bruised_ tomorrow."

"Weird," Remy swallowed hard.

"Your voice _does_ sound a little hoarse too..." Hank suggested.

"Oh," said Remy responded uneasily, he struggled to find an explanation. How was he supposed to explain something that could potentially have everyone killed? How could he explain this when Rogue was out there somewhere possibly being watched by Lain?

"How _did _you fall out of bed? What were you doing? Dreaming? Did something happen? Were you _attacked_?"

"I...uh..." he searched himself for plausible answers. "Honestly...I don't know what happened..." he shook his head, he tried to force a confident yet confused expression on his face. There was no way to explain this logically, and to try would be to put everyone at risk...especially Rogue. That was what the creep had said, wasn't it? He would start with _her. _

Hank was silent for a moment, reflective. Remy wondered in that silent pause if Hank was examining the expression on his face, reading it for signs of lies. He hoped his skill of lying expertly had not failed him. "Did you have a nightmare?" Hank finally asked.

"I..." Remy swallowed hard, "I think so."

"You think so?"

"It's..." Remy swallowed again, very aware that it did hurt to do so. "It's comin' back to me now...I dreamt I was bein' strangled...maybe I did it t' myself..." he reasoned.

"Hmm."

Remy paused to think for a moment, he tried to seem pensive, to give the lie more credence, "is it possible t' accidentally strangle y'self when y' dream?"

"I've...heard of people becoming tangled in their bedsheets...then dreaming of such things," Hank admitted, "and I have heard of people who've accidentally hit themselves...scratched themselves in their sleep so...it isn't entirely unheard of."

"That's what must have happened," Remy shrugged; he listened carefully to the sounds of Hank moving his medical equipment around; possibly putting it away.

Hank took a moment, breathing softly and Remy sensed he was deep in thought. "How...are you feeling?"

"Sore," Remy replied hastily. He was anxious to leave but he was sure that standing up and trying to would only alert Hank to the fact that something really _was _wrong.

"How are you feeling _mentally?" _Hank elaborated.

This took a moment of thought. Remy couldn't deny he _felt_ better. He didn't feel inordinately depressed or hopeless any more, but he couldn't say he felt happy either. If anything, he felt afraid. He felt afraid for Rogue...for what the _Doctor_ would do to her. What he would do to _all _of them.

"If you're taking time to consider, then that's not good, Remy," Hank pointed out.

"It's just..." Remy began, he swallowed somewhat anxiously, "I'm still tryin' t' figure out how I feel. My head is startin' t' clear up a lil', y'know?" he asked. "Those shards...they left me in a fog and I'm still tryin' t' find my way back _out _of it."

Hank sighed, "If you need to talk-"

"I know," Remy assured, "if I need t' talk...I can come t' you...or the Professor."

"Of course," Hank pulled Remy's arm out and smacked around to find a vein; the cold wetness of antiseptic and the pinch of a needle; Remy felt a rush of something hit him like an invisible train made of hot air.

"What was that?" Remy asked, he breathed out slowly as he tried to adjust to the odd dizzying sensation that seemed to rush to his brain in merely seconds.

"Just something to ease the pain; I can tell you're in for a rough night otherwise," Hank explained as he gently cleaned off the needle mark and applied a bandaid, "It'll make you a little sleepy, so I would advise you go to bed now. I must return to the war room to work on the security issue and relieve the Professor of his watch."

"How is the security thing comin' along?" Remy stood slowly, his limbs felt strangely heavy; had someone tied bricks onto each arm?

"Tricky. Adjusting one section sometimes causes gaps in other areas of security...changing just one tiny setting can kill the power in several systems at once – the servers housing the security mainframe are in dire need of upgrading and in trying to do so, I accidentally knocked out out two of our alarms tonight."

Remy paused for a moment; he now understood how Doctor Lain had managed to creep in...and out again without even raising any awareness at all. "Is it back up?"

"Charles is working on it as we speak. But don't concern yourself with this. Go to bed, rest...and we'll talk in the morning."

"G' night, mon ami," Remy said quietly, and he left the room.

Remy travelled through the mansion and upstairs to where his bedroom was located; his fingers trailed the walls carefully to help him find his whereabouts. He counted steps as in his mind he replayed the things the _Doctor_ had said. One thing stood out. The man had used a single word to refer to himself. _Sinister. _Remy shuddered; the whole experience _had_ been sinister.

He had barely managed to make it up the stairs when moving became difficult. Feet dragging, holding onto the wall for support, his head seemed to spin in perpetual blackness. He swallowed hard, the feeling hot and uncomfortable in his throat; his cheek hit the cold wall and although the pain from the blow _Sinister_ had inflicted still had hold over every nerve, the edge of the hot fury of agony was gone and there was a strange numbness that reminded him of the sensation of having his mouth numbed at a dentists visit.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the wall unsteadily; he tried to remember where he was. Top of the stairs? Or had he walked further? How many _steps_ from the stairs had he taken? Which wall was he at? The wall to the left corridor or the right?

A hand touched his back and his blood ran cold, startled, he cried out and spun around, smacking the hand away while simultaneously he finally lost his balance and landed hard on the carpet beneath him. The pain he felt slam through the left side of his face and he hissed in pain. Was this how he was to die? Was _Sinister_ back to finish off what he'd started?

"Whoa! Take it easy!" came Rogue's cry, her voice revealing she was just as startled as he was. "It's just me!"

He tried to push himself up from the floor but he felt so heavy, so tired, as if he'd never slept before and every fibre of his being had been drained of energy so that he wouldn't make it another second without giving into the seduction of slumber. "S'...s'," he tried, he forced back the fear that had momentarily caught in his throat, "sorry," he finally managed.

"What the hell..." Rogue mumbled, he felt the warm cotton of her gloves as she reached beneath his arm and pulled him up awkwardly, it taking several moments. "You're breathin' hard...are you okay?"

"I jus'...I didn' hear y' come up behind me is all...don' do that t' me...don' sneak up on a blind man..." he tried to force the trembling to calm down. He felt stupid...childish. How could he have let her do that to him? How could he have let _Sinister_ do this to him?

"Ah called your name a moment ago...didn't you hear me?" she asked.

"No," he answered; he realised immediately he'd been so deep in thought he had not heard her at all. Either that or whatever Hank had given him for the pain had put him in too much of a trance for him to notice such things.

"Pull yourself up!" Rogue commanded, awkwardly trying to get him up from the floor and doing a poor job of it, "jesus, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Hank..." Remy managed, he felt drunk in the head and heavy as lead. "He give me somethin'...f' the pain..."

"That explains why you're talkin' like you're stoned," Rogue managed to haul him up somehow, he wasn't positive in his black haze but he was sure he had his arm around her shoulders now as she led the way down the hall, his feet dragging awkwardly behind him as he tried to hold himself up on the nearest wall rather than drag her down with his limp weight.

A moment or so of tedious travelling along what seemed like the worlds _longest_ hallway, Remy heard the slight squeak of his doorknob and the swing of the hinge as the door opened. Rogue led the way inside and to the bed where she dropped him somewhat unceremoniously on the mattress.

He heard her slippers brush against the carpet as she moved around the bed, "you seem upset...did somethin' happen?" she asked.

"I'm jus' tired and sore is all..." he lied as felt himself almost seem to sink into the mattress; nothing had felt as comfortable in his whole life. "It's been a rough few days."

"It's been a rough _month," _Rogue replied, the mattress buckled as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"That too," he felt Rogue gently remove the mask from his eyes and a moment later he felt a frosty – albeit slightly damp – plastic substance touch his face. The gel within was ice cold and nothing had ever felt so instantly soothing against the seething hot pain he felt. His body seemed to liquefy as he sank momentarily into bliss; bliss that he wasn't altogether sure came purely from the cool refreshing pain relief of the gel mask.

"That better?" she asked gently.

"Y' got no idea how much," he sighed in relief. He flinched just a little at first when she touched his hair; he realised she was fixing it from where it was caught in the elastic of the gel mask. He wanted to turn around slightly on the bed to face her, unsure if he was really facing her at all or the wall directly across from his bed but the thought of even moving seemed to use more energy than he had to spare. Besides...every time he moved his head, he felt like the world might be spinning around him and that he might vomit. "Whatever Hank give me is makin' me feel a lil' sleepy."

"h..." she began, her breath caught in her throat, he heard it and for a moment it was almost as if she ceased to breathe at all. "Ah'll keep my door open...just in case you need me for anythin'..."

"Okay," he nodded; he was glad she'd decided this...so he could listen through the night for Sinister in case he should decide to go to her room and harm her. He wasn't sure if he had the power to save her or that he would even be able to be _awake _should the situation arise, but it didn't mean he couldn't try all the same should anything occur.

Rogue was stalling; he couldn't tell why. He didn't have the luxury of seeing her expression to tell if it might be conflicted or not.

"Are...are y' still mad at me...over...what I did?" he finally asked.

In silence, she seemed to ponder the answer, she sighed and finally answered, "Ah don't know. To be honest...Ah don't think it really matters any more. Now that the shards are gone and your head is startin' to clear...things are gonna change anyway. Right?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," he pondered too.

"Maybe not?" she asked softly.

"Magneto had this theory...that everythin' I felt came from _somewhere. Y'know?_"

Rogue was hovering; he wasn't sure if she understood or not.

"I always _liked_ you Rogue."

"Oh."

"Maybe..." he began as the painkiller continued to swim through him killing every awake cell in his body. "Maybe we shoul' jus' forget all that happened...try t' move _past_ it. Maybe it don' _need _t' count...'cause I wasn' in my right mind anyway..."

A pause, he heard her shift.

"It's New Years t'morrow...time t'...y'know...make a fresh start. Time t' stop carin' about what happened...and start carin' about what _could_."

Rogue gave a sigh, "that's what worries me...what if history just _repeats_ itself?"

"What if it don'?" he slurred tiredly, sinking into a darker blackness of his own; it was like being drunk without the beery vision; being drunk and spinning on a merry-go-round in the pitch black of night. "I'm startin' t' wonder, chere..."

"Wonder what?" she asked, sounding almost upset.

"Startin' t' wonder...if maybe this where I was s'posed t' be all along...what if I was s'posed t' be wit' you? What if this what gon' make me who I'm mean' t' be?" he rambled.

"Jesus...what did Hank give you?" she mumbled.

"Liquid clarity..." he sighed comfortably. "Stupid ain' it...that it take _bein' blind_ t' _see..."_

Rogue gave something of a bemused laugh, "you're stoned."

"How 'bout it...hmm? New Year...New Start...will y' think about it?" he murmured as he began to slip willingly into the abyss of sleep. Rogue's whisper of _"We'll see,_" was the last thing he was aware of before he was out.

* * *

**End of Part 32**

* * *

Hope you all are doing well and happy holidays! Hopefully will have Part 33 and 34 up before Christmas (should there be no interruptions in real life! Boo!). Thanks to everyone for continuing to review, I love hearing from you all and it's so lovely to hear that so many of you are still reading after all this time! I love you all :)


	33. Part 33

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 33**

**Closer**

* * *

Rogue leaned back uncomfortably in the hard chair at the control panel in the war room. Nine monitors were neatly built into the wall, all showing different views of the Xavier estate perimeters. Unfortunately, that was a lot of land to cover, and each monitor had four alternate angles to examine making even the task of sitting looking at screens even more boring than it would have normally been.

She'd seen nothing in the three hours she'd been sitting there watching. Strong coffee was doing nothing to keep her perked up enough to be focused; regardless of how intent she felt to protect Remy from this mysterious Doctor Lain she was having a hard time staying vigilant.

The events of the early morning had left Rogue absolutely exhausted. Being woken up by that loud thump had been bad enough, but after she'd turned on the light, Remy's blue-murder screams had been enough to jar her whole being awake for the rest of the night. Even though Remy had been out like a light thanks to whatever drugs Hank had administered, Rogue had felt almost obliged to stay awake and listen out in case he should awaken, in case anything else _should_ happen.

The things he'd said to her last night – his drugged out ramblings of wanting to start fresh – it was too much like the crazy suicidal ramblings, his claims of love from only days ago. It was too hard to _believe_ right now...and it was as the Professor had said...the shards could have _lasting_ effects...effects which may come and go at the drop of a hat.

Rogue couldn't risk it. She wasn't about to give his possibly still disturbed mind any more reason to lose control. She wasn't willing to almost _lose_ him again like she had on the balcony. He was becoming far too important to risk...even if it meant hurting him _more_ by distancing herself in the process.

All the same, the things he'd said had sounded almost feasible in the darkness; the idea of starting fresh was _nice_. But it was merely a dazed theory that would never pan out. Too much had happened for them to just _ignore_. Even if they _did_ start fresh, she would always be wondering if there was the remote possibility he would ever feel the same ways he had...if he was possible of reacting in the ways he had in Boston.

It hurt to _want _to start fresh and know that they just couldn't. Last night she'd felt inexplicably close to him as he'd mentioned those things and it had been hard to try to tear herself away, she'd felt it almost impossible to argue with the idea of it. It was odd that the further away she _wanted_ to be from him, the closer she felt. The more distance she _knew_ she had to place between them the closer she wanted to be.

How could you want to be near someone and want to be away from them at the same time? It was impossible. She couldn't be close to him and _not_ close to him. She could only hope the Professor _would_ follow through with his plans of distancing them. It was the only way it would make it easier. She knew the Professor was right in this decision...it was absolutely what they both needed.

Being close to Remy was _not_ going to help him in this current condition. Besides, there were too many more important things going on and this would only distract them from both being more aware of what was going on around them. If Doctor Lain had managed to find a way to have the Professor contact him, then he knew _exactly_ where they all were, and he _would_ come for Remy. Those shards were important. Rogue wasn't sure what they were for, but if those shards could prevent a mutant from using the powers that was their birthright, then who knew what else they could be used for.

_God, now you're the one who's raving,_ she thought to herself frustratedly as she let her eyes travel from monitor to monitor, watching out for anything specific, a change in timecodes, a slight shifting in shadows. Everything out there was still; no tracks in the pristine sparkling snow, no animals, not even any birds today.

Her thoughts briefly shifted to Logan; she had no clue where he was. Was he even in the united states? Or had he gone somewhere else, somewhere on some island far from anywhere anyone would think to look. Would he go berserk alone out there with only his own company, growing more volatile by the hour?

As indestructible as Logan had always seemed, Rogue still saw him as purely human, he breathed, he bled, he felt emotion and pain, and as such, it was most likely he was definitely _not_ immune to the effects of those shards. She wished for a moment she could at least hear his voice so she knew he was okay.

"You, like, look like you could use a break."

Rogue hadn't heard anyone's footsteps, and when the hand of Kitty Pryde touched her shoulder she leapt and spun around and swatted it away irritably; instantly, she felt regretful and put a hand to her face. "God, Ah'm sorry..."

"Hey, it's fine," Kitty forced a smile.

"You came back early," Rogue turned back to glance at the monitors.

"Yeah. The Professor called early this morning...said he needed all of us to come back as soon as possible. So I came. My parents were getting kind of annoying anyway...they want me to pick a college already and I'm like, I don't know! So yeah, I took off."

"Ah didn't even see you coming up the drive..." Rogue glanced up to the monitors and fumbled for the controls to change the view to the driveway. She discovered there was no view. "Shit."

"I guess that camera is disconnected. Anyway, I had to use my powers to get through the snow...I didn't leave a trail so I guess it wouldn't be noticeable."

"Hank and the Professor set some new traps and alarms up last night – but it deactivated a few of the other alarms and cameras on the same circuit. The coding is messed up and Ah guess the camera pointing towards the drive is one of the ones that deactivated durin' the reset."

"I can fix it," Kitty shrugged.

"So how was the trip back?"

"The Prof, like, paid _a lot_ of money to get me a flight. I mean it costs a bomb to get out of anywhere on New Years Eve. I don't even wanna _know_ how much it cost. I flew business class...I'm pretty sure I saw Donald Trump on the plane...at least he had hair like Donald Trump," Kitty pulled up a chair near the panel and glanced towards the monitor.

"So...did the Professor fill you in?" Rogue asked tiredly.

"Only the basics," Kitty crossed one leg over the other, "Gambit had some of the shards from the gems of Cyttorak, this doctor is after them and now we need to protect Remy 'cause he may come after him or something..."

Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek as she glanced towards Kitty, she flirted with the idea of admitting what Remy had said and done over the past few days but instead, she decided against it and instead she picked up her coffee mug and took a long drink.

"So..." said Kitty, "Remy tried to kill himself in Boston_,_ huh?"

Sighing, Rogue shook her head in disgust, "who told you? Logan?"

"Actually..." Kitty tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear, "I overheard Hank talking to the Professor about it a few minutes ago. I should have knocked before I walked in."

Rogue stared down into her coffee sadly.

"I don't think they _knew_ I overheard," Kitty shrugged, "and I didn't want to ask . They didn't even seem to notice I'd been there...so I walked out and came down here."

"What did they say about him tryin' to off himself?" Rogue sighed.

"It was vague...I didn't get the details," Kitty admitted. "So what happened in Boston?" she got up from the chair and moved over to the coffee machine on the other side of the room, she inserted a coffee pod and switched it on. "He just lose it?"

"Ah guess," Rogue leaned forward and let her arms rest against the cold metal counter beneath the monitors, "it just got...crazy. It was the shards...they made him lose it. They've been doin' it all along."

"How did he _get_ them though?"

"How does Remy LeBeau get _anythin'?" _Rogue pointed out dully.

"Oh, he stole them?" Kitty waited for her coffee.

"And the longer he was in contact with them, the longer they started to make him go crazy. He thinks maybe they were startin' to do the same to me."

Kitty raised an eyebrow, "how would we _tell_?" she poked fun as she retrieved her now full cup of steaming hot instant latte.

"This ain't funny," Rogue said irritably. "He could have died that night; the Professor barely caught him. He could have died – and for _what? _So he could try to _cure_ me..."

Startled, Kitty spilled a little of her coffee. "Cure you? That's what this was all about?"

"That's why he was in that chemical plant...gettin' the right stuff to do it...only the X-Men intercepted...and...the rest you know."

Kitty took a moment of contemplation as she sipped her coffee, "How'd you feel about the fact he tried to cure you?"

"How do you _think_ Ah feel?" Rogue demanded.

"It's kind of romantic, in a way."

"It's not, Kitty. It's stupid."

"What is?" Kitty came back to sit beside her.

"That he took these risks. For me. He was ready to throw himself off a balcony because he thought it'd make _my_ life easier. Ah'm not even worth the bother, and why he _thought _Ah was...Ah can _only _assume was the influence of the shards..."

Kitty snorted a little, "seriously?"

"Hmm?"

"He _got_ the shards to cure you...and you think the shards _caused_ him to think that? Sure, _that_ makes sense," Kitty remarked sarcastically. "Why are you in denial?"

"Ah'm not in denial."

"I don't know him. And I don't know _everything _about what happened with the shards or what happened in Boston. All I _do_ know is that whenever you're in the room with Remy, he's different. He hangs on every word you say – you see it in his face when you're talking."

Rogue stared at the monitors and pretended not to hear.

"You're crazy about him too. You're just too _emo_ to admit it," Kitty leaned back in her chair lazily and glanced up at the monitors.

"Ah'm not _emo_," Rogue retorted coldly.

"Then why not just _go _for it with Gambit? Are you still hanging out waiting for the day Scott is gonna dump Jean and come running to look for you? 'Cause I'm tellin' you now, Jean called me last night, and from what she told me, that's _not_ gonna happen any time soon."

It was odd, Rogue thought, how she'd somehow forgotten Scott existed; she hadn't thought of him once in days. It was the first time she'd ever _not_. "What do you mean?" she turned to examine Kitty's sapphire eyes curiously. "What'd she say? Did they finally _do it_ or somethin'?"

"I'm not sure," Kitty shrugged. "I always figured they _were_ doin' it already somewhere secret. But...no...I think they're engaged or something. Jean said she had somethin' _important_ to tell us all when she got back."

"Oh." Why didn't it even _hurt_ that it was possible that Scott may have asked Jean to marry him after all? Or that they may actually be having sex? Or that they were together at all? It _had_ hurt...it had hurt for months. Now...it didn't seem to provoke any feelings at all. In regards to Scott...there was an odd _lack_ of feeling...a numbness that was insignificant.

"Are you upset?" Kitty asked almost seeming worried.

"Actually..." Rogue stared into space, slightly taken aback with this _absence_ of feeling, "Ah don't care."

Kitty repeated this. "You don't care..."

"Ah don't care what Scott does, or who he's with...Ah don't care who he's screwing around with or who he wants to marry..."

"You don't?"

"It's weird..." Rogue admitted feeling oddly embarrassed, "Ah haven't thought about him at all..."

Kitty laughed a little, "wow. Gambit _has_ gotten to you. He's made you _get over Scott!_ That's no easy feat! Man must be a miracle worker. And _you_ must have it bad."

"Shut up."

Kitty giggled, "Rogue's in _love..." _she singsonged.

"Don't make me hit you."

"Okay, fine, I'll behave," Kitty cleared her throat as she pressed a button on the panel to change the camera view on monitor B1. "But I knew it. From the _minute_ you started being on a first name basis with him...I knew it was gonna happen."

"It's _not_ going to happen," Rogue coldly uttered.

Kitty paused, "why not?"

"Have you forgotten what Ah can do?"

"No," Kitty shrugged, "I'm sure he hasn't either."

"No, of course not," Rogue frowned, "that's why he had to cure me first."

"Does it matter to him that much?"

"He said it doesn't..."

"Then why the cure?" Kitty queried.

"Because he thought Ah wouldn't have it any other way," Rogue replied quietly, feeling the energy steadily draining out of her the more she had to explain it.

"Oh. That's stupid," Kitty admitted.

"Yeah," Rogue got up, "it's stupid because...he's right," she moved away from the chair, "You okay to keep watch for a bit? Ah need some rest."

"Sure..." Kitty said, looking slightly perplexed. "You look like you need it."

* * *

**End of Part 33**

* * *

Ah, see, I managed to make another update just before Christmas! Go me and motivation, lmao. Glad you're all enjoying it and hope you're having happy holidays. Hopefully will have Part 34 up by tomorrow night so stay tuned. Thanks to everyone as always for their lovely reviews, I do love hearing from you all!


	34. Part 34

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 34**

**Starting Fresh**

* * *

Remy braced himself; his eyes were squeezed shut tightly; he felt Hank gently pulling at the elastic around the sleeping mask.

"Just be still; don't open your eyes immediately," Hank warned, "if you can just relax your eyelids; let me know if you still have the perception of the light."

Remy flinched a little; the skin around his eyes felt so tender and hot; it was still swollen, he'd discovered. When he'd awakened a short while ago he'd prodded gently at his brows and discovered they seemed to be protruding; even his cheeks were puffy. "You sure the blinds are shut."

"Yes. The room is quite dim...alright...here we go."

The light seared through his eyelids and stung like hell; Remy put his hands up instinctively to cover his eyes and gasped in pain. "No...it's still too painful..."

"But you can tell there is light?"

"Yes."

"Alright," said Hank; I'm going to open your eyes briefly and put some drops in. It's going to hurt to open your eyes; I won't lie."

"Fuck," Remy complained unhappily. He still felt groggy from sleep; he wasn't sure if it was just exhaustion or whatever drug Hank had administered during the night.

Hank pried one eye open; the light was excruciating. Like staring into the centre of a sun without the power to look away; the eyedrop burned even more regardless of how cold they were. Remy struggled to contain himself; he wanted to run away and hide in a closet or under the covers of his bed.

"Pain in the ass," Remy muttered.

"Me?" asked Hank, almost sounding momentarily offended.

"No...sorry," Remy shook his head; the eyedrop to the other eye came, it was swift and Hank had tried to be gentle but it just wasn't working under such circumstances. "I mean...this..." he gestured to his eyes.

Hank applied the sleeping mask again and secured it, "I can imagine."

"No...not really," Remy replied. "It's stupid. I _prayed_ t' see anythin' but darkness...now any time there's light I'm in agony. Guess I can't win."

"I can give you some more painkiller if you're in agony," Hank offered.

"No. I don' wan' sleep through the last day of the year and wake up in another. I'm jus' gon' have t' deal with it."

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Hank reminded.

Remy nodded, "so...what y' think about this thing with the light? Is it good or bad?"

"Well..." Hank began, he gave a sigh.

"You've had some time t' think about it...y' must know by now what it means?" Remy asked hopefully.

"I still don't know. It could be a good thing. It _may_ signal the return of your sight but I have never known sight to return so promptly, especially after such an accident. At the moment, it is a complication. Anything that causes such intense discomfort is a complication."

"I see. Or...hear, anyway."

"You seem a little down today," Hank commented.

Remy paused, "Honestly, I don't know _how _t' feel. I wan' t' be happy that there's even the _slightest_ possibility that my sight might come back...at the same time I don't know if I _should_ be happy..."

"If you feel anything more...serious...you should tell me now..."

"I'm fine. I'm not suicidal, I'm jus'...I don't know how t' categorize it," Remy assured. "I'm not gon' go stick my head in the oven."

"That wouldn't help, Remy."

"I know. Suicide ain' the answer t' anything."

"No. That's not what I mean. The oven is electric."

Remy smirked just a little, "I guess it's only helpful if I wan' t' fry my brain. I guess though that'd mean I'd _need_ a brain first, eh?"

Hank chortled just a little. "Come back in a few hours for a re-application of these drops. I placed an icepack in the freezer earlier this morning for you should you need some relief from the pain."

"Yeah. That sounds ideal," Remy replied. "I'll be back later."

It was hard to not be in a bad mood when he was in so much pain. It was odd that he felt in more of a bad mood today than he had on the day he'd lost his sight. The pain was just excruciating. He wasn't sure what had happened but there was no doubt that _Sinister_ had been the cause. It had happened immediately after the creep had hit him in the face...he was _directly_ responsible.

_He's the reason I got blinded by Cyclops, and now he's the reason I'm blind t' light,_ Remy thought angrily as he made his way to the kitchen; he caught the scent of Rogue just as he entered the room. Her shampoo, conditioner, her body products. Always distinct. He stopped at the threshold and stood there; she was at the fridge and he heard the rattling of items as she moved them around.

"Hi," he said, trying to push aside his inner anger and frustration from the pain; he wanted to feel _better_ that she was around but life was rarely ever that wonderful. Even being near someone he cared so much about wasn't enough to dull this agony.

She nearly dropped something; he heard her gasp and catch it; her rings clattered against glass...a jar perhaps? "Remy...jesus...you need to sneak around like that?" she asked, slightly breathless.

"It's what a thief do best," he forced a little smile for her even if it hurt his smarting face all the same.

"Your face is fucked..." Rogue commented. "Does it hurt?"

"Like holy hell. It's like Satan threw hydrochloric acid on me then pissed on the raw wounds just for kicks," he stepped in closer.

"But...you can still see the light?"

"Yeah. Too well...I can't see anythin' but. It's like lookin' in t' the centre of the sun. I can't see anythin' _but_ light once this mask is off."

"You need anythin'?" she asked. He heard the clink of something being placed down on the counter.

"Ice pack from the freezer if y' be so kind," Remy requested.

He listened to the hiss of the freezer opening, he felt the cold spilling out of the drawers and heard the rustling of bags and boxes being shifted as Rogue searched for the item. She found it and placed it in his open hand. He was very aware that her bare hand must have been mere centimetres away from his own. He might have been thankful for being knocked out by her powers. He raised the ice pack to his burning eyes and pushed it there; even the pressure was agony and he flinched.

"You're not okay," Rogue said, "you should get Hank to give you somethin' for that."

"I don' wan' spend the last day of the year in a daze, chere," Remy remarked.

"What difference does it make," she sighed as she closed both fridge and freezer doors. "It's just a day. Not different from _any_ other day."

"Y' don' celebrate New Year?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Everyone is usually gone or goes to bed early. Ah just go to my room on my own and read or somethin'..."

"I never celebrate either," he admitted. "Usually on my own too..." he took a seat at the kitchen table, still holding the ice pack steadily to his face. "It sucks bein' alone, doesn't it."

"Ah'm used to it," Rogue answered after a moment; he heard the clunk of metal hitting metal and the hiss of a gas hob being switched on; the click of the pilot and the rush of flames upon metal, the glug-glug-glug of liquid spilling from a bottle into a pan.

"What y' makin'?" he asked.

"Heatin' some milk," she replied. "Ah...didn't sleep...Ah'm so tired...Ah thought it would help."

"Y' wan' me t' come tell y' a bed time story?" he teased.

"Yeah, you can tell me the story of how you became such an idiot. That must be long and borin' and would put he right to sleep," she teased back; her voice had an edge to it that he instantly picked up. She _was_ exhausted.

"Y'know y' can heat milk up in the microwave, right?" he asked.

"It's not the same," she sighed as she sat down at the table somewhere to his left at the other side.

There were moments of awkwardness and non-speaking; he listened to her thrumming her fingers against the hard wood; he couldn't explain why it irritated him. Swiftly, he reached out and placed his free hand on her arm to stop her from doing so and she did instantly. Beneath the fleece of her sleeve he felt the tension in her arm become hard; she was uneasy and he couldn't fathom why. Weren't they beyond this already? After _everything_ they'd gone through he would have assumed she'd gotten over being tense around him.

Instead of removing his hand – which he had no doubt he _should_ have done – he squeezed and relaxed his hand gently in a tender massage to try and ease her. He felt her shifting slightly uncomfortably; he had the sense she wasn't looking at him at all.

"So...y' didn' sleep much last night so..." he sighed, "Y' must have had some time t' think about what I said, huh?"

She straightened up a little, her arm seemed to go even more tense, "You were drugged out of your head."

"I never felt more _lucid,_" he admitted. "I knew what I was sayin'. I wasn't stoned."

"Look...Ah..." she began and she stopped; she didn't seem sure how to continue.

"We don' have to go fast, chere. We can take this as _slow_ as y' want. I jus' wan' know there's somethin' t' look forward to..."

She gave a nervous laugh, "that's just it...there isn't _much_ to look forward to...is there? What are we supposed to do. Go to movies and _not_ hold_ hands. _ Lie in bed and _not_ have sex. Fall in love and _never_ kiss..."

"Platonic relationships work sometimes," he shrugged. "Didn't that whole _Twilight_ thing make billions of fucking dollars on that basis? A girl who can't fuck a vampire in case she gets hurt? A vampire who can't fuck a girl incase he 'loses control'?"

"You followed me to see those movies?"

"I'd follow y' wherever y' wanted me t' follow y'," he stated; he adjusted the position of the ice pack.

"This isn't a movie, Remy. And it's _not _a book that we can just conveniently fit twenty chapters of sexual tension and have everything work out alright in the epilogue. Is it?"

"Y' write y' own story in this life," Remy suggested. "It might not be a book with twenty chapters o' sexual tension. Might be a fuckin' comic book...a life time of 'will-they-won't-they' sexual tension where we _never_ know what it's like t' kiss each other," he shrugged. "It's still readable."

"And you could _live_ with that?" she scoffed.

"Yes," he replied in a definite tone; perhaps it was just the pain giving his tone that hard edge that made it sound so _final._

"You're nineteen years old. You want to throw your youth away waiting for me when you could be out there sowing your wild oats in every field that takes your fancy?"

"I don't _care_ about my wild oats. Christ, I can't remember the last time I even-" he stopped himself, "Look...I've..." he put the ice pack down for a momentarily. "I've had as many girls as I _want_ t' have. Sex is nice...sure...but it's _jus'_ sex. If I need t' sow my oats, I don' _need_ a field t' throw them in, y' know?"

Rogue had no response.

"I'd _like_ a chance. A proper chance. Now that things are _different._"

"They're not different yet, Remy. You're still practically _raving_. And we're still _arguin'."_

_ "_No," he remarked curtly. "We're _discussing."_

"I say po-tay-toe, you say po-tah-toe," she uttered.

"I don' get why y' fightin' me on this," Remy admitted. "I know y' want me...y' _admitted_ it. Y' feelin's _haven't_ changed. Y' scared of hurtin' me? _Don't be_. I don' care if I get hurt. I probably _deserve_ t' have my heart trampled on a few times...you're about the only girl I'd _let_ get close enough t' do that t' me."

Rogue was stirring her milk which had come to the boil pretty quickly by the sounds of it. Remy stood up slowly and came around behind her; he let his fingers graze the fleece covering her back and he heard her sigh softly.

"Me and you...we _have_ somethin', chere. Somethin' that I've _never_ had with anyone else."

She turned slowly after switching the gas off from under the pan; Remy was very aware of the close proximity. "Why can't we just _wait_?" she asked.

"_Why_ should we wait? Haven't we waited long enough? You've stuck around like a little lost puppy for Cyclops to claim you...I've been waitin' in the shadows for months watchin' you waitin' for him..."

"That's just _it._ Ah don't _care_ about Scott anymore. But...part of me is wonderin' if maybe the _shards_ influenced the lack of feelin's Ah have for him now...or if they influenced how Ah feel about you. And what about _you? _How do Ah know the shards aren't givin' you this _urgency_ to be with me?"

"I told you-"

"Look..." she pushed hands against his chest forcefully and made him move a few feet back; he felt genuinely dejected but he tried not to let it faze him. "If we _are_ ever going to be together..." she stated, her voice full of frustration, "it's going to take _time. _You want to start fresh? _Fine. _Ah'm totally behind that idea. Lets start fresh. As _friends._ Get to _know_ each other. See if we're _really _compatible. Give us both time to work out if what we feel is real or if it's the shards doin' this to us...then after...when we've figured things out...we can start thinkin' about goin' into somethin' a little...deeper."

"But..."

"But nothing," she said firmly. "Since the day you turned up here, my life has been turned upside down. Ah need some stability and so do you. So we're gonna work at this as _friends. _We're gonna hang out _chaperoned_ just like the Professor decided, and if we go out _anywhere,_ we go out with _friends _so that no outings turn into a date. We don't spend time alone, we _don't_ give ourselves a chance to give into our feelings and we don't _tell_ each other how we feel until a real long time has passed."

Remy stood silent, listening to her list of demands. Once she'd finished, he finally asked, "How long is a _real long time_."

"Ah don't know...months...a year maybe."

"A _year?"_

_ "_What difference does a year make? We're not going to be any further _forward_ than we are now," she pointed out. "We're not going to be married and honeymooning in St. Tropez or anything."

Remy sighed, "this isn't goin' anywhere..."

"That's the idea," she brushed past him to go get herself a glass from the high cupboard; he listened to every movement she made. "It's not _meant_ to go forwards. It's meant to go _back. _That's what the idea of starting fresh _is. _We start from scratch."

"But..." he began, he couldn't find a viable argument. Why was it everything she said sounded so damn logical? He certainly didn't want it to be. He supposed this was his own fault for trying to convince her to give him a chance while he was in so much pain. Had he been painfree, he may have actually had it in him to be romantic, funny and charming instead of being this way.

_Stop bein' so fuckin' whiny and needy, _he warned himself. _She's had enough of that since you came here. Sweep her off her feet...you used to be great at sweepin' girls off their feet._

Of course, the problem with sweeping Rogue off her feet was that a: she didn't seem to really be interested in being swept off of them, and b: it was likely if he tried to do so he'd throw her into a table or some other piece of furniture he couldn't see in this condition.

"Fine," Remy sighed. "If from _scratch_ is how this has got t' be...I'm cool with it for now. But...I wan' y' promise that this _is_ gon' go somewhere, and that y' not gon' string me along jus' 'til somethin' better comes along."

Rogue gave a vacant laugh.

"What's funny?" he asked, he wasn't sure what was so amusing to her. He could certainly not sense anything funny in what he'd requested.

"It's just..." Rogue paused, "Ah was thinking you might be the one to do that to me."

* * *

**End of Part 34**

* * *

Yay, I managed to upload before Christmas day! I kept my promise. Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews and I love hearing all your theories. It's fun to read! Love you all! Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!


	35. Part 35

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 35**

**Half-hearted Apology**

* * *

Remy flinched at the Professor's touch; he was sick of people prodding and pushing and prying at his tender eyes; in the past month there'd been far too much of it. Couldn't they just _look_ but not _touch?_ He understood the _necessity_ for it, but all the same, he wished he could just forgo it for the moment.

The brightness that came whenever his eyes were opened was excruciating. He'd been told the Professor had closed the window shutters of his office to block out the light but even this was too much to take and made him awkwardly pull away every time his eyes needed to be examined.

"Your pupils are still hugely dilated..." the Professor sighed. "Tip your head back."

Remy felt the sting of liquid cold hitting his left eye and he winced in pain, the Professor held his head still. "What is that?"

"These drops are designed to constrict your pupils," explained Professor Xavier after administering the second drop. "Hank applied these drops last night too but noted no change in the dilation."

Remy shifted uncomfortably, "only thing that helped was that eyemask thing from the freezer that Rogue give me."

"I don't understand this sudden swelling," the Professor admitted, "nor your sudden perception of light."

"Me neither," Remy said through gritted teeth. A lie. He _understood_ what had happened, he just didn't know exactly what it meant yet.

The Professor paused, "hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing," the Professor responded.

Although Remy knew the Professor's opinions on the ethical telepathic mind invasion, he was positive at that moment the man _had_ tried to invade his thoughts and that perhaps for a brief moment, he'd seen something in his head. For the moment, Remy didn't want to press the matter; he had no intentions of striking up a conversation about what had happened the night before.

_ I don' wan' put you all in more danger,_ he thought uneasily.

"You seem troubled," the Professor said after a moment, "is...something wrong?"

An awkward silence, Remy couldn't offer the explanation the older man was waiting for. "Nothin' at all," he reached for the ice pack he'd been carrying around; the contents were almost melted to slush but the slight coolness helped all the same.

Professor Xavier paused, and Remy heard the whirring of his electric chair as he moved away from the chair Remy was sitting upon. "You don't seem so convinced of that."

"Y' said y' can't invade my thoughts," Remy reminded, feeling slightly bitter.

"As I said, sometimes feelings escape every so often...and you are feeling..." Professor Xavier's voice was thick, he trailed off.

"What?" Remy pushed, "what am I feeling?"

"Fear. Quite intensely."

"There's a mad man who may be out t' get us all for those shards. Can y' blame me?" Remy pointed out.

"Understandable."

"How's...the security thing going on? Are we all secure and safe?"

"Almost. A few more precautions are being taken. There have been gaps...points where anyone could have walked in. Kitty entered the premises without even being detected and this is worrying."

Remy stood and wandered a little in the office; he followed the crackling of the fire in the hearth and put his hand against the mantle, the warmth of the fire caused his face to smart but he didn't move. "Y' have blind spots."

"Pardon?" the Professor asked, sounding perplexed.

"In y' security," Remy sighed, "y' have blind spots. I know it."

"How?"

"It's my profession t' know," Remy turned to face the Professor's direction.

"You know where they are?"

"Back of the estate...the cliffside. It's not easy t' climb but I've done it in the past. There are _no_ alarms there, no system set up. Y' need t' _look_...y' need t' be careful...I can't..." he swallowed a lump in his throat, "I can't _risk_ somethin' happenin'."

"Remy..." the Professor suddenly sounded so alarmed, "what's happened? Something _is_ wrong. I can hear it...you _are_ scared."

Remy sighed, "I jus' can't have anythin' happen t'..." he had to stop himself from saying Rogue's name, "to any of you..." he shook his head, "y' all I got...if anythin' happen t' y' all...I'm...I'm gon' be alone...I can't _be_ alone like this. No one gon' take care of me in this condition. No one gon' give a _fuck_ 'bout me."

Professor Xavier chuckled softly.

"What's so funny?" Remy asked irritably.

"You're forcing yourself to make this all sound so selfish...as if you care about nothing but yourself," the Professor explained. "But...you _do_ care...about the institute...about _us._"

"Are y' readin' my mind?"

"I can hear it in your voice," Professor Xavier answered, the tone of _his_ voice said there was no lie in this. "I can tell that you care."

"Y' don' need t' sound so smug about it," Remy uttered.

"I'm afraid I do," the Professor admitted, "you must understand...to hear that someone who was once _an enemy_... someone who came here with such...dislike for all of us...a dislike that nearly burgeoned on hatred...has suddenly found in himself the openness to accept change and allow us into his life...allowed himself to become part of this strange family we have all become..."

Remy listened closely.

"It gives me hope, Remy."

Guilt swept over Remy; he _did_ hate the Professor at that moment. He hated him for _trusting_ his acceptance...he hated him for allowing him to _stay_...allowing him to remain and put them all in danger.

But more than anything...right now he hated himself. He hated that this would, eventually, still have to blow up in his face even more than it had done already. He hated that there would never be enough words in the world to apologize for the trouble he'd caused.

He excused himself from the Professor's office – knowing that the Professor had much still to do for the security of the institute – and made his way down the hallway. With each step, the thought that he should run as far as he could became stronger. He should leave this place and give the X-Men a chance. Something _told_ him that Sinister was more formidable than any of them could ever dare to dream.

_Least if I tried t' escape, it'd give them a _chance_ maybe. But how would I get out of here? I've never been out of the mansion without a chaperone...I wouldn't even know where t' find the gates...and in all the snow I'd probably jus' go in circles 'til I froze t' death._

So lost in thought was Remy that he did not listen out for his surroundings and before he had known it, he had clumsily bumped into someone who nearly sent him falling to the floor. An arm grabbed him on expert reflex and stopped him from tumbling over.

"Careful," came Scott Summer's reply.

Remy pulled himself together quickly; he had _not _expected to hear Cyclops' voice so soon. "Y' back..." he said, yanking his arm out of Scott's grip hastily.

"Yeah. The Professor called us all back early...had to cancel our plans..." Scott explained, sounding somewhat put out.

"All because of me, right?" Remy could only hope he'd stopped the smug prick from getting laid or something as equally important. Hopefully he'd stopped the smug prick from getting his _first_ lay. That'd really be satisfying. Summers still had to be a virgin...he was too much of a wimp to be the kind to sleep around willy-nilly.

"I'm not here to start a fight with you, LeBeau."

"Good, 'cause I'm not in the mood for one," Remy retorted coolly, he shoved past Scott and made his way further down the hallway.

"You know..." came Scott's echoing voice halfway down the hallway behind him, Remy stopped in his tracks. "I've spent the last month feeling like _crap_ over what happened to you."

Remy stood there, back turned to Scott, he held his breath; he couldn't deny there was still that flash of anger in him that he had _still_ caused this blindness even if it were his _own_ fault it had occurred. "That makes _two_ o' us."

"Look I just..." Scott's voice deepened a little.

"Y' what?" Remy snapped.

"I don't want to go into the New Year without saying..."

Remy turned quickly, "what?" he spat, "y' gon' tell me y' sorry...that y' need t' clear y' conscience?"

"I _am_ sorry," Scott said grimly.

"Right."

"Do you get how hard it is to _live_ with what I've done? How many days I saw your face and knew I'd been the cause of those eyes that _can't_ see what I can?" he demanded.

Folding his arms, Remy stood there, listening sullenly.

"I don't know what to say to make this all right, Gambit."

"There _is_ nothin' you can say," Remy spat.

"You know I never wished you _this._ If I could take it back, I would...if I could do it all differently-"

"It don't _change_ anythin'."

"I know."

"And I'm not gon' shake y' hand and give y' a fuckin' bro hug just 'cause y' said sorry. We both know y' ain' sayin' sorry t' make me feel better. Y' sayin' it t' make _you_ feel better. Apologies are a selfish act."

"I never said we should shake hands and be friends, LeBeau. I don't like you. I've never liked you. I don't like you being here..and I don't like you being around _Rogue_ either."

Remy would have blinked under different circumstances. Instead he laughed incredulously, "are y' fuckin' _shittin' _me?"

"Ever since you got here she's been _different._ Now I hear about all this crap in Boston..."

"What happened in Boston got _nothin'_ t' do with you," Remy warned. "That's _private._ Y' got no right knowin'! None of y' damn business!"

"When it comes to someone in my team being dragged through your mess, it _is _my business! I don't want you hanging around her...bringing her down...it took us a long time to get through to her, to get her to let us into her life...you're gonna screw it up!"

Remy laughed again, "_I'm _gonna screw it up? If there's _anyone_ that's bringin' her down, man, it's _you_."

"Me?" Scott gasped.

"Yes. You. You with your airs and graces and image of _perfection_ that she's _strived_ t' bask in since the day she showed up here in Bayville..." Remy spat. "Y' snubbed her for Jean...y' let her pine over you...and y' rubbed it in her face every day about the things y' can have that she never could..."

"Gambit, what the hell-?"

"But she's over it. She's _movin'_ on. _With me._ And y' try t' step in the way of _that_ and I'll bring _you_ down."

"Right," Scott was disturbed and Remy could sense it, despite the brave voice the guy was putting on. "Sure you will."

"You keep yourself to _yourself,_ I'll keep myself to _myself, _and things will be _fine," _Remy grumbled; he went on his way before Scott could retaliate. He was sure he'd hear about this conversation again later – from Professor Xavier, but right now, he didn't care. The knowledge that Scott was still feeling guilty and now somewhat disturbed by threats was enough to make Remy feel ever so slightly better for the moment and that was enough for now.

* * *

**End of Part 35**

* * *

Wow, it has been a while, hasn't it? I do apologise for the time it has taken me to get this part up (blame the person who bought me a PS3 and introduced me to the world of console gaming!). Thanks for all your awesome reviews and I'm glad people are still eager for the story to continue. Love ya all! :)

PS. Part 36 won't be as long, lol.


	36. Part 36

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 36**

**SNOWBLIND**

* * *

For New Years Eve dinner, someone brought Chinese food. Remy wasn't sure who in their right mind had braved the heavy snow that had apparently blanketed the entire estate, but he was thankful for a meal that was unlike the usual fare that had been the standard since his arrival.

The entire team was back home, and all holed up in the warmest room in the house – which was the formal living room with its crackling fire. Remy listened to the team talking about their Christmases in that quiet calm way as he sat upon a thick pile rug eating his shredded chicken in chilli sauce from the carton, hoping that he wasn't inadvertently spreading egg fried rice over the place in the process.

In a quiet corner, Remy could hear Jean talking to Kitty about a 'magical' evening she'd had with Scott just an hour before they'd been called back, how they'd had candlelight dinner, and walked in the snow together, and that it had been the most wonderful night she'd spent with Scott. Rogue was on the other side of the room, and Remy was certain that she was straining to hear what Jean was saying despite pretending to be more interested in what Kurt had done over Christmas.

_Maybe she isn't over him,_ Remy thought dully as he chewed. Every now and then he was sure he felt Scott's eyes on him, glaring. It might have been imagination but he was positive it wasn't, just as he was sure it wasn't his imagination that Rogue was probably staring at Scott and wondering why he'd gone with Jean and not her.

There were a few discussions about the security situation – the Professor had Hank and Ororo place some new measures in a few blind spots but in the morning they wanted Remy to work with them to try and pinpoint if there were others they had missed.

_Doesn't matter where you put these measures, he's gonna get in here. He got in without raising any alarms and he'll do it again,_ Remy frowned.

Remy felt too hot, and he got up from where he was sitting and didn't even excuse himself, feeling that everyone was too focused on each other to even notice his leaving the room. He walked around the house, quiet, listening, trying to hear for any sounds that didn't belong there, hoping that Sinister wasn't lurking behind a door or a wall, waiting for him.

_Take me now, Sinister. Just take me, and leave them in peace. They did nothin' wrong,_ he thought at the darkness around him. He walked around the mansion, one hand trailing the wall to guide him; his fingers slid along banisters and railing, tracing the patterns in the wainscot edging, detecting the imperfections on painted walls. He remained alert, trying to be aware of any unfamiliar coldness, any eeriness in the atmosphere, but everything was still other than the faint sounds of voices from where the others were.

After what felt like a good while he made it around the interior of the mansion and finished in the kitchen. He drank a glass of water and sat quietly in a chair at the table for a while, listening to the sounds of the mansion, of the ticking of the old grandfather clock down the hall, and then the sounds of distant footsteps.

Curious, he quietly got up and crossed the kitchen, leaning against the wall and listening to find out who was approaching. He heard voices there...and whoever it was seemed to be unaware of his presence, as there was no hesitation in the voices. Either he was good at hiding, or they were too preoccupied in their discussion.

"I know it's bad timing...and it's not the best way of saying it..."

"No...it's fine."

It was Scott and Jean. Remy frowned a little and leaned against the kitchen wall, remaining so still that he dare not even breathe in case the shifting of his weight in doing so alarmed them to his eavesdropping. He hoped he was absolutely out of sight to wherever they were standing. They were in the foyer, he could tell from the distinct light echo of their voices. They couldn't see him, he was positive of it, there was a corner and a stairway in the way of their view – he knew that from having spent so much time feeling around them.

_Jean mus' be distracted, she don' even sense me,_ Remy thought, wondering if she might even pick up his thoughts while he was in the vicinity.

"It was supposed to go a lot nicer than this...it was supposed to be at the party at your parents house and...I was supposed to be dressed in a suit and...well...you know..." Scott was saying.

"It...doesn't matter how you say it, Scott..." Jean admitted, her voice high with emotion.

_What are they talking about ? _ Remy pondered, he lingered, statue-like and holding his breath.

"I just imagined when I asked you to Marry me, it wouldn't be in the hall after a discount Chinese takeaway, me with rib sauce on my t-shirt," Scott sighed, "I wanted the year to finish with something really special..."

"It is special," Jean said, her tone now tearful, "and I don't care what you have on your shirt...or how it was supposed to be..."

"So you will?"

"Of course I will," Jean sobbed happily.

Remy listened to them pulling themselves together after a few moments of heavy making out – which was incredibly difficult to listen to without being disgusted and as he remained there he wondered if the sounds of someone kissing passionately had always sounded so loud and obscene or was it just his perspective as a blind man with slightly more acute hearing.

It seemed almost fifteen minutes before Jean and Scott retired back to the formal living room. Remy waited until he was sure they were absolutely gone and then he went upstairs, intent on going to bed. _ I don' wan' to go to that livin' room. They'll announce it...and I don' wan' be in the same room with Rogue when they do..._

He had barely found the clothes he wore to bed when he heard a sharp smashing sound coming from down the hall. With a sigh, he left the bedroom and stood in the hallway; the sound he knew right away had come from Rogue's room, and that could mean only one thing. His suspicions about Rogue's reaction had been on the button.

Remy went to knock on the door but it was already ajar and swung open at his touch. As he stepped forward he heard her sniffing coming from where her bed was and he stopped in his tracks, not sure if he was even noticed or not.

After a quiet sob, Rogue – who it seemed was fully aware of his presence - announced, "Ah don't know why Ah'm upset..." it came out almost as if it were an answer to a question he had yet to ask. "Ah just am."

"They got engaged," Remy said, matter of fact. He hated the way it came out of his mouth. It felt like the words had been a bullet that he'd directly and deliberately shot straight at her heart...he wasn't particularly sure if he _had_ meant it to sound so blunt and cold but he couldn't take it back now. He supposed it wasn't his fault he couldn't help how it had come out sounding...after all, Rogue was upset over a man she couldn't have when all the while, he himself was standing here waiting for her to accept him feeling like he would be forever fighting a losing battle.

Rogue lamented but said nothing. Remy sighed and moved across the room towards the bed where she was sitting, he could feel her presence close and sat next to her, his bare fingers brushed against her hip and he felt her shift to give him room. He hated that instinct of hers to always move away.

"Ah don't care about him...Ah really don't," Rogue assured, sniffling. Remy wanted to believe her.

"Then why the crying?"

A moment of contemplation, but she really didn't seem to have a reasonable answer. "Ah don't know."

Remy gazed into his black void; it was all he could see through the blindfold he was wearing to protect his sensitive eyes from the light. "I do," he admitted quietly.

"You do?" she asked half-heartedly.

"It's that they're not stuck in that weird state o' reverse...they moving forward...moving on...goin' somewhere..."

Her silence spoke for her. He'd hit the nail on the head. He'd hit it with a ten tonne hammer. He'd been hitting the nail on the head for a while, but it didn't seem to be going in much deeper.

"I know that's how y' feel," he admitted quietly, he trailed his fingers across the embroidered pattern on her bedspread, following sewn curls of thread absently. "I feel it, too."

Rogue shifted; he felt her turn towards him, she was staring at him and he could feel it boring into his soul.

"It's unfair, ain' it?" he asked quietly, "others can seem t' find happiness no matter which way they look...we got t' try and scrimp a few crumbs of it t' gether sometimes jus' t' try and make it through a day without feelin' like it's all..." he tried to finish the sentence.

"Pointless," she whispered, finishing for him. After this, she said nothing else; she didn't need to.

"Lets go for a walk," Remy decided, he stood slowly.

"No," she replied softly.

"C'mon. It'll clear our heads...it don' sound windy out there anymore, sounds nice and still..." he held his hand out to her.

"The snow is up to your knees out there," Rogue reminded.

"Don' care," He waited, patiently, listening to her wiping her tears with a tissue that sounded dry and crinkled alreadys. Her hand eventually landed upon his and he led the way through the house. _She's blind t' everything, blind t' how things could be...I'm the blind leadin' the blind, and if I can't see how am I s'pose t' make her see?_

Outside, the snow had begun to fall again, it was a light snowfall but the flakes were huge and chilled Remy's skin as they walked together across the snow, hand in hand like it were the most natural thing in the world. Each large flake brushed Remy's cheeks like the kiss of an icy lover.

Rogue was silent as they walked carefully through the thick crunching snow. The silence was nice, and this moment was perhaps the best of the day, he decided. He was _happy_ with this...perfectly content for this moment if this was to be how things were. Why couldn't she just be happy too for now?

After several moments of walking, Remy's free hand found the railing that edged the cliffside and they stopped there. Remy could hear the water below was calmly lapping at the rocks. For just a moment, his troubles melted away just as the snowflakes must have been melting into the water. He wondered for a moment if he threw himself down into the water, if there was a chance it could wash away all his sins and he could be reborn to be a good and honest man.

Life was barely that simple though.

Rogue was the first to break the silence of that wintery night, and it was a poor attempt in socialization; it seemed now that she'd embarrassed herself in front of him by sobbing about Jean and Scott's engagement, she wasn't sure how to interact other than force small talk. "How...how are your eyes?"

"Still hot and sore," Remy answered, wishing she could just stop changing subjects and making small talk and just admit she wanted more and that the thought of starting fresh and playing platonic was about as pointless as an unsharpened pencil with no lead within it.

Rogue's hand left his and he sighed, the moment was over. He heard crunching of snow; she was compressing it in her hands, "take the blindfold off. This will soothe it a little. It's clean snow – shouldn't be any chance of infection."

Although he'd rather she just took his hand and let him have his moment with her, he couldn't resist the thought of cool snow against his burning eyelids; besides, if for a moment it would help take her mind away from engagements, then it couldn't hurt to let her nurse him a little. With only a moments hesitation, he gave in and he removed the mask carefully, his eyes smarted as he did so and he kept them closed, as they felt slightly sticky from being closed for so long

"It might sting at first," she warned.

"Go for it," he sighed, "I'm used t' bein' burned by now," he added, somewhat bitterly.

The snow touched his tender flesh and he yelped a little initially, but didn't flinch. It seemed the snow was melting much faster against his hot skin than anticipated, but the cold did soothe the irritation. He felt the droplets of water go from cold to warm and trickle down his nose and tickle his lips before falling onto the collar of his sweatshirt.

He contemplated telling her loved her – for what felt like the millionth time. He contemplated trying to kiss her, regardless of the danger it would bring him and her. Instead, as Rogue stood there, holding the clump of pure snow against his eyes, Remy decided to take a chance and deepen their moment together; with both arms he reached out and slipped his arms around her small waist not giving her the option of whether she was ready for such a bold gesture. Rogue flinched away immediately, pushing him away from her, dropping the handful of snow.

"Remy, what the fuck?" she demanded in anger, her tone slightly tainted with hurt that he would try despite her clear signals she hadn't been ready.

"What...the...fuck..." he whispered too, only in absolute surprise. As the cold wet snow had fallen from his face when she'd pulled away, the stickiness in his eyes had unglued and his eyes had snapped open.

And to his astonishment...he could see.

"Are you fucking _mad? _Ah'm wearin' a cropped top...do you want to end up dead?" she demanded angrily.

The vision of Rogue was a blur; everything about her was like seeing her through frosted glass. It was too dark out to make out any features, and even if it hadn't been, he wouldn't have been able to distinguish much more than the blur of her face in front of him. Her eyes were just two dark hazy spots on a white canvas, and her lips were just a dark slash.

With a shaking hand, he reached towards her to touch her shoulder; he saw his blurred hand miss her entirely and he gaped in astonishment. His perception was off, he couldn't see straight, but he _could_ see.

"Rogue..." he gasped. "I...I see you..."

She moved forward just a little, "Remy...?"

"I can see...I can see you...you're...so pale..." he blinked, "and blurry...I can't...make out anything...your eyes, I can't see them but...I can see you there...I can see your shape..." his eyes smarted as he strained to see and he shut them tightly, "god it hurts..."

"We need to see the Professor..." Rogue said.

"No..." he refused. "No...Gimme a moment...please..." he begged. "I jus' need time t'...adjust..." he opened his eyes slowly and gazed ahead at her once again to be sure, "I can still see you..." he looked around, "I can see the snow..." he blinked, even the dim whiteness of it hurt his eyes, "jesus...it's makin' me snowblind!" he laughed, his eyes watered at the pain. "Jesus, my sight is comin' back...I'm gon' be able t' see again."

* * *

**End of Part 36**

* * *

See, I promised it wouldn't be too long before the next part was up! :) Sorry that the chapters are so sort. I know alot of you would prefer the chapters bulked together with more content, but when they're in shorter chapter format I find it easier keeping up with things (it's just always the way I've written stories more or less and I can't really get out of the habit of it). I hope you're all still enjoying the story, and I hope you're all having good days/weeks/had good weekends. It's very late now and I must sleep. Hope you like part 36. Love you all. As always, thanks for the reviews from the previous chapters 33.

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	37. Part 37

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 37**

**Blackout**

* * *

"This is absolutely amazing," said Hank, "you've gone from absolutely blind to gaining back some vision...it's nothing short of a miracle."

Remy stared ahead in the dimly lit room at the blue blur in front of him. Colour was incredible to see; he'd never realised how beautifully vivid colours like _blue_ could be. "Anyone ever tell y' that y' a pretty shade of blue, Beast?"

Hank gave a chuckle, "Surprisingy no."

"I never thought I'd see _colour_ again," Remy admitted excitedly, "I forgot what blue looked like," he squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed for now he couldn't look at anything for more than a few seconds before the pain came back.

"Don't strain your eyes," Professor Xavier warned, he was sitting somewhere to the back of Hank, watching over the examination. Remy was sick of these examinations but soon hopefully it'd be over with once and for all. "I can see that straining to see is hurting your eyes and giving you a headache. For now, you should rest your eyes."

"No! I'm done resting my eyes. I wanna _see_ shit. I've been in the dark f' a month!"

"Remy, he's right," Hank assured, "you need to rest your eyes for the moment. Tomorrow we'll work on helping your eyes adjust. Do you have any other problems with seeing at the moment, other than the blurriness?"

"I reach out for things but I miss touchin' them," Remy admitted, "is that normal?"

"Things may seem slightly closer than they are...if your eyesight _is _recovering then your depth perception should improve."

"But as always," Professor Xavier spoke up, "do not get your hopes up. You may only gain back _some sight._"

"Right now _any_ sight is better than none at all," Remy said, trying to hide his excitement, he opened his eyes again; he saw the bald blur of Professor Xavier behind Hank, he blurted out, "Jesus, your head looks like a pink balloon."

Rogue, who was standing quietly against the wall to the back of the room, suddenly gave a chortle, the Professor wasn't as amused.

"Funny," the Professor uttered under his breath.

Hank tipped Remy's head back, "I'm going to administer more of these drops," he informed; each drop felt like liquid fire. A little droplet of acid that quietly felt like it sizzled in each socket.

As Remy squeezed his eyes shut, his mind was attacked with thoughts of all that had happened. _I can't believe he did it...he fixed my sight. Sinister did this. I know it was him...this is why he hit me in the face...he put something on me...he _did_something._

There was a silence in the room, Remy suddenly realised he had to contain his thoughts, the Professor might hear...he might be trying to invade his mind.

"I think it's time everyone went to bed now," the Professor suddenly announced.

"But it's not even _midnight_ yet," said Rogue.

"You can celebrate New Year in the morning – we're all very tired and could use the rest."

Remy glanced over to Rogue's blur, she moved towards the door with a sigh and he got up and went to follow her but, the Professor grabbed onto his arm and stopped him in the middle of the room.

"Remy, just a moment," said the Professor.

Remy noticed Rogue seemed to look over her shoulder at him before she left the room. Hank followed her out of the room, and the door was closed behind him. Remy was left standing, hovering in the middle of the room, blinking in pain as he took in the blurry surroundings. The hospital room was very dimly lit, but just bright enough for him to make out the examination couch, two beds and what seemed to be a table or desk of some sort. Cabinets, a door, lights on the wall. He glanced down to the floor to see the tiles there, he could almost make out the dark grout between each one.

"There's something you aren't telling us," the Professor stated, "since your sudden perception of light, you've been on edge, and now you seem even more troubled despite your obvious delight that you can see for the first time since the accident."

"Look, of course I'm on edge..." Remy folded his arms, "there could be a mad man comin' t' kill us all f' all I know..." he shut his eyes, he could feel the tears of pain trickling down his cheeks, or perhaps it was just the eyedrops Hank had administered.

Professor Xavier was silent for a moment, then said "I'm always an advocate of giving people a second chance," he admitted. "And I'm trying to give you one now, Remy. I sense your lies...I sense your hesitation. If what you're holding back could potentially hurt us all...hurt Rogue...wouldn't you want us to _know_?"

Remy paced a little, hugging himself; the room felt eerily cold despite the heating coming from the blur of a radiator he'd seen at the back of the room. "You're readin' my mind."

The Professor paused, "No. Your thoughts are screaming at me, it's very hard not to hear. One word keeps coming up in them, Remy..."

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled and he felt his entire face twitch; he'd never felt so nervous and on the spot. He was a master of deception, a master of lying, but this scared him.

"The word is _Sinister," _the Professor finished.

He wasn't sure why his heart felt like it was about to jump from his chest, but it thudded hard at the word. With a hard swallow, Remy replied in a thick voice, "I don' know what y' talkin' about."

"Oh, I believe you do," said the Professor. "He's been here, hasn't he? He's been in our home...he did whatever has caused your sight to return. This isn't a miracle, this is a treatment, and if I find out you are _working_ with him still-"

"I'm not," Remy winced, "he...he puts the fear o' God in t' me..." he stammered.

"Then _why _are you lying for him now?"

"Because-" Remy barely had a chance to begin the sentence let alone finish it; the lights, the hum of electricity, everything instantly died and the drone of it dying into complete silence. Remy looked around the room, everything was black – the hospital room had no windows.

"I was afraid this would happen," said the Professor with a sigh.

"What?" Remy asked, he felt his way to the door and opened it; the hallway, everything, was in utter blackness.

"The security measures we put in place draw a lot of power from the generator powering us. The generator must have overloaded and shut off."

Fear twisted in his gut, Remy knew something was wrong, further than a blown generator. "We need t' get to the others, get everyone in the same room."

"You can find your way in the dark, Remy, I cannot..."

"Fancy electric chair and no lights on it?" Remy asked.

"What did you expect? Floodlights from the wheels?"

"Somet'in like that," Remy moved to where he'd seen the desk and ran his hand blindly along it, "where's that lil' flashlight Hank was shinin' in my eyes?" he asked, "I know it got t' be here..."

"He keeps it in the pocket of his coat," the Professor answered.

"I'll have t' improvise," Remy found something card like and he held it away from himself, focusing all his energy into it until it began to kinetically charge. "This won' provide much light..." he said, even the pinkish orange light of his kinetic charge was nearly blinding and hurt his eyes so much that he had to squint, "but it'll help us get around..."

"Hold on tight to that," the Professor warned, "we don't need an explosion right now."

"Noted," Remy said, he hung onto the back of the wheelchair with one hand, holding the charged piece of card with the other as it lit the way down the hall. The Professor suddenly stopped midway in the hall, "oh..." he said.

"What is it?"

"The elevator...I can't make it upstairs..."

"Fantastic..." Remy uttered, "I suppose y' object t' bein' carried?"

"In this particular situation, there isn't much choice, is there?"

Hoisting the Professor onto his shoulder was a strain, and the man was heavier than Remy had anticipated; it felt as if he were carrying dead weight right over his left shoulder as he moved carefully up the stairs towards the first floor of the mansion.

"I telepathically told the others to meet us in the foyer," the Professor stated.

Remy grunted, "Y' know...for a man so slim, y' packin' a lot of pounds..."

As Remy approached the top of the stairs, the dark hulk of blue lit up by a camping latern was there; Remy coudn't read Hank's expression but he _did_ know the worry in his voice when he spoke

"There's a problem..." Hank announced.

"What's wrong?" the Professor asked as Remy placed him on the bottom steps of the staircase leading upstairs.

Immediately Remy's heart felt as if it had stopped as Hank replied.

"We can't find Rogue."

* * *

**End of Part 37**

* * *

**...I'm sorry it took so long to get this up. We've had several probs with our internet (one being it having been cut off at one point) so uploading was near impossible. Hopefully am going to get back on schedule with posting more chapters soon (got a lot to sort out). Anyway, thanks to people who keep reviewing and asking for more. It makes my day to know people are reading and enjoying the story. Love you all and hope you enjoy this chapter. 3**


	38. Part 38

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 38**

**Fear**

* * *

"What do you _mean_ you can't find her?" Remy felt his voice thicken; he shut his eyes, the pain was excruciating, the drops still stung; his stomach felt like it was in a Celtic knot.

"We searched the mansion – she's nowhere to be found."

"But she was just here! She went with you, Hank! I saw her. I _saw_ her leave the room with you!"

"She went to go upstairs to bed," Kitty explained. "By the time the lights went out I called out to her to come back and she didn't answer, Scott went up and she was gone..."

Remy took off running upstairs, calling her name anxiously, "Rogue?! Rogue! Answer us!"

"She's not here, Remy!" Called Jean, after him. "I can't sense her!"

Remy ignored Jean's words, he ran from room to room frantically, finding no one, not even hearing sounds of life. In his mind he thought twenty different scenarios, all bad. All including Sinister. He ran downstairs, "No no no! This isn't _right!" _he yelled maniacally, "this isn't right!"

"Calm down," warned Hank.

"We need to find her!" Remy said, "he has her! I know he has her..." he looked around the foyer, everything a vague dark blur, pale blurry faces breaking the blackness, all staring at him like a gallery of spoiled paintings.

"Will you calm down!" Scott warned.

"No," Remy pointed a finger at Scott's hazy form, "It's dicks like _you_ that were supposed to be here to protecting her! Instead you're too busy boastin' about y' happiness to _care_ that she was in danger!"

"Hey," said Scott; Remy hadn't realised how close he was to Scott, as his arm was pushed hastily out of the way.

The charged card in Remy's other hand fell to the floor, the charge only half drained from the card caused it to pop like a firecracker on impact with the tiles. If Remy hadn't been so concerned about Rogue, he may have pondered if the floor had been damaged or scorched, he may have apologised.

"If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have _been_ in danger. None of us would. You invited this into our home. You brought your bad luck with you like baggage and never warned us until it was too damn late. You want to finger point at someone, then do it to yourself!"

"Shut up, both of you!" Jean warned, her voice shrill with tension. "This isn't solving anything, you fighting over who's _responsible_ won't change anything. We need to figure out what to do and we need to do it quickly. We're already wasting time."

"Jean is right," Professor Xavier snapped, "enough squabbling. Remy, tell us everything you know."

Remy moved to the stairs and sat there; his body felt drained of energy, he was weak and helpless. _Pull y'self together, LeBeau,_ he told himself sternly. _Think, man. Think. _"He did this to me...my eyes. He warned me if I betrayed him...Rogue would be in danger...and now..."

"We'll get her back," Kitty said enthusiastically.

"_How?!"_ Remy demanded angrily. "Do y' have the _slightest_ idea of who y' dealin' with?!"

"Do _you_?" Kitty asked pointedly at him.

Remy drew a shaky breath, he couldn't answer.

"Is there a way to contact him?" Hank asked hopefully.

"No. He always contact me usin' third party. I never even got t' see the co-ordinates of where I met him face t' face. I jus' know it was a bunker...high tech...middle of freakin' nowhere, couldn't even see _land _out past the water. All I can tell y' is the place was _hotter than hell_."

"That's...vague. There's like...a million places that could be," Kitty sighed. "And for all we know he _could_ have a base here in Bayville too."

"Without the power on, we can't even use computer equipment to try to pinpoint the location of any base," the Professor reasoned.

"So what are we meant t' do?" Remy asked worriedly, "we can't jus' sit here and _wait_."

"We need to get power on, we need to find out as quickly as possible where Sinister took Rogue, and we need to figure out what he wants," Hank explained.

"He _wants_ the shards. The shards that y' gave Logan t' take away to only God knows where," Remy despaired.

"Well, getting in touch with Logan without power is an impossibility," explained the Professor.

"He got no phone?"

"We couldn't give him his phone as a precaution. Phones can be traced. I can get in touch with him using my powers, but I _need_ Cerebro to do so..."

"Fuck," Remy shook his head. "This is a fuckin' joke. Rogue could be...she..."

"She'll be safe," the Professor stated, he sounded calm but it struck Remy that he was very good at forcing that calm attitude.

"He's right," Jean said after a moment of contemplation, "hostages are more useful alive. He took Rogue because he knows how you feel...he knows he can trade her for them..."

"That ain' helpful if I can't get my hands on the goddamn shards," Remy lamented.

"We'll work on the power situation right away," Hank assured. "I doubt he'll be back...not immediately anyway. If he is taking Rogue back to a base on an island, it could be a day or two before he tries to contact you."

"What am I meant t' do while y'all working on the power situation?" Remy demanded, "sit here and twiddle my thumbs?"

"Rest, would be my advice," the Professor answered. "Rest and heal. He gave you your sight back for a reason; he'll want you to deliver the shards, and when the time comes, you should be ready for anything."

* * *

**End of Part 38**

* * *

Alright it was just a small update, but it's something. Still working on the rest. Hope you all enjoy. Thanks for being so patient with me (and for all the awesome reviews from last part I uploaded). Love you all :)


	39. Part 39

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 39**

**Fork**

* * *

_Remy gazed across the sea of endless water; he saw no land, no other islands, nothing to suggest life existed outside of where he stood. He was standing on the landing pad on the roof of the base and the helicopter taking off had lifted dust from the surface so that it was in his hair, stinging his eyes, making his mouth taste sandy. _

_ He turned to look over the island; from where he stood he could see the whole complex. The high walls with sharp barbed wire, keeping the outside from getting in. There were large bunker doors that peered out of an embankment. Three rows of ominous bare looking buildings, perhaps twelve to each row...no windows, just thick steel doors. _

_ It looked to him like a prison...a concentration camp...the kind he'd seen in those shattering movies about the holocaust. The watchtowers stood sentinel, machine gun turrets were fastened and pointing towards any likely intruders or escapees. _

This is a prison,_ he thought, cold tickles of fear ran up his spine and settled into tension at the back of his neck. There seemed to be no prisoners that he could see; either they were working inside the buildings, or they were never allowed to see the light of day. What kind of prisoners would a place like this hold? He shuddered to think._

_ He turned to walk towards the door to lead down into the building the pad was on; instead, somehow he managed to trip on his own foot and went sprawling down onto the hard floor of the pad. His nose almost touched down into red and for a moment, he thought he'd fallen into blood. _

It's not blood,_ he thought as he awkwardly pushed himself up; he moved back one step at a time, examining the sight before him. It wasn't blood...it wasn't blood at all. It was paint...it was painted onto the pad in the place of the standard circled H that would be expected of a helicopter pad._

_ It was a symbol._

Remy was disorientated when he woke up; he wasn't altogether sure how he'd gone from being on an island in the middle of nowhere to sleeping on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and tried to make sense of what was going on; when he removed his hands, the vision of the room he was in was clearer than what he'd seen since his sight had started to return. Of course, everything was still absolutely out of focus, but it was much sharper, much easier to define than before. He could see the flames of the fire burning in the hearth...he could vaguely see the hands of the large clock on the wall. It was somewhere near eight as far as he could tell.

The improvement to his sight may have been more exciting had he had Rogue to share his thoughts with. But she was still gone, and he was still frantic with worry.

_How could I fall asleep when she out there somewhere...needin' us t' help her...? _Remy wondered dully as he stood up and moved to the window; there was still snow outside, he could just barely make out trees, hedges, and the gates down the hill at the bottom of the driveway.

Something touched his shoulder and he flinched, spinning around awkward and swatting at whatever had done so; he saw the small blurry vision of Kitty Pryde standing there gazing up at him; even with his sight still so hazy, he could make out the incredible blue of her eyes.

"Jesus, don't do that," he hissed at her. "Y' tryin' t' give me a goddamn heartattack?"

"Sorry," she said sounding only vaguely bothered by his tone. "Not my fault you're so jumpy though...thought you'd have calmed down at least a _little_ by now."

"I'm fine, I just...I had a weird dream is all," he sighed.

"Well...breakfast is ready," Kitty offered. "C'mon, you have to like, eat something."

Remy followed her through the halls; it was odd how different the mansion looked to how he had actually thought it would be. The plain cream walls with the mahogany wainscottin, the thick heavy doors and the brass handles, even the kitchen seemed even bigger than he'd thought it was and it was bright and cheery, to him he couldn't explain why it oddly felt like home. There was food on the table, but no one else was sitting there eating. In fact, judging by the pile of dirty plates he spied by the sink, breakfast was already over and had been for a while.

"Everyone like, already ate," Kitty explained, "You were asleep...and since you and Scott aren't speaking, I didn't want to wake you and cause any more tension or anything."

"It's fine," he assured as he sat down; his depth perception was still a little off and he almost slipped off the chair at first. He found it hard to focus on reaching for the dish that had the scrambled eggs and missed it twice.

"Here, let me," Kitty offered, reaching out.

He smacked her hand away, nearly missing that too. He found himself regretting his rudeness and tried to explain it away. "Sorry. It's just...I've had enough people babying me," he responded, trying to soften his voice a little. "I can do things myself now."

"Sorry," Kitty rubbed her hand and moved around the table to sit opposite him. "Geez, that dream must have really messed with your head."

Remy sighed as he dished himself out scrambled eggs, still having to use some of the techniques he'd used when he'd been completely blind. He saw the eggs on the white plate, that sunny yellow standing out. He picked up the ketchup bottle and squeezed a large blob on the centre of it; he liked the way it almost made him think of sunset.

"What was it about?" Kitty asked; she sat opposite him, her chin propped up by her hands, elbows on the table.

"It..." he paused. He wasn't sure he really wanted to explain it all to Kitty. But then again, she had already probably been briefed about everything. What did he have to lose now by telling her? Everything stupid he'd done in the past few months was probably old news by now. "It was about the Island...where _he_ is."

"Do you really think he took her there?" Kitty asked, her voice almost hushed.

"I don't know," Remy took a mouthful of the eggs, and although they were delicious compared to the usual standard, he just couldn't force himself to even eat a second mouthful; his stomach was already in knots. "I'm sorry...I can't...I can't eat right now," he pushed the plate forward unhappily. "I can't...settle 'til I _know_ Rogue is all right."

Kitty stared across at him; her blurry face was pale, but her nose seemed ever so slightly pink indicating perhaps a cold or allergies. "Tell me about the dream."

"What's to tell? It's like...somethin' from the holocaust...Auschwitz or something. Makes my skin crawl jus' thinkin' about it," he rubbed his forearms a little; the hairs on them were slightly prickling.

"And it's in the middle of nowhere?"

"In the middle of a massive ocean. Which ocean, I couldn't say."

"And there's nothin' specific about the place?"

"No," he replied quietly, staring down at the table, at his fork staring up at him, the prongs bright red from the ketchup. And then it was that moment that Remy remembered the strange symbol on the helipad. "Wait..." he whispered, "the...the weird symbol."

"Huh?"

"Where's the Professor?" he asked quickly as he stood up.

"Uhm...he's in the war room but-"

Remy took off jogging towards the direction of where he knew the elevators were; he had to pause for a moment, trying to remember the steps, the direction. He found the wall panel and tried to find the mechanism to open it.

"The power is still out in most of the mansion and most of the sub-basement area," Kitty called behind him.

"Fuck," he uttered.

"He had to have Hank take him down the stairs this morning."

"There's _stairs?"_

_ "_Well, yeah, but the door had a computer lock and we had to break it...it took a few hours to get through."

"Take me there. It's important."

* * *

**End of Part 39**

* * *

Truly sorry for having taken so long to get this uploaded. Had a lot of personal stuff going on around here, plus life has been busy in general. The story is coming to a close very soon, and most of it is written. I'm going to be hoping to have the ending up in a few weeks (if I get enough time to work on it! Lol). Thanks to everyone for their continued support and reviews on the story. It wouldn't be here without you all :)


	40. Part 40

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 40**

**Symbol**

* * *

The war room was in a mess; panels were opened, wires were everywhere, but there was a quiet hum from somewhere that told him that the Professor and Hank had managed to somehow get electricity running in some of the equipment. There were floodlights scattered around the room hooked up to what seemed to be a car battery as far as Remy's blurred sight could tell.

Remy followed Kitty to where the Professor was lying on his back under a control panel, wires pulled out everywhere around him, a tiny tool in his hand which Remy was sure must be a small screwdriver or a soldering iron.

"Professor," said Remy as he moved closer, "I need to talk."

"Is it important?" asked the Professor; his voice was slightly muffled as he had a small flashlight clenched between his teeth. "Most of our systems blew when the power went out and it's important that we mend them immediately; it may be the only way we can locate Rogue."

"I think I know something," Remy said, hoping the man could hear the absolute urgency in his voice.

"About?"

"The Island..." Remy spoke up; he felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him, he felt studied, just like had been on the day he'd wound up with the X-Men, blind and injured, scared in the dark.

"You know where it is?" the Professor asked, leaning up a little to look over at him.

"No," Remy answered, "but I had a dream. And I saw somethin' in it that might be significant. Somethin' that stood out against everythin' else. It has t' be important, right? When somethin' in a dream shows up like that, it's a sign...it's meant t' be taken attention of, right?"

"Tell me more..."

"It...was on the ground..." Remy began.

"Oh?"

"A red fork."

Kitty leaned against the nearby panel; even though her face was blurred, Remy could see the questioning expression. "A red...fork."

"It's a symbol...o' some kind. Or maybe a logo. On a helipad on a roof..." Remy said, "not a fork like a dinner fork, but maybe the top half o' a devil's pitchfork...only...the middle prong seemed maybe slightly detached...or maybe all the prongs were. I don't know...I just...I think it might be significant."

The Professor took the flashlight out of his mouth and awkwardly slid out from under the panel; as he pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position, he stared at Remy curiously, his bald-head had an intense glare from the nearest floodlight. "A red fork..." he repeated quietly, thoughtfully.

"I know it isn't much to go on..."

Hank, who had been at the other side of the room, unnoticed until this moment, said suddenly, "why does that sound so familiar? Why do I _know _I've seen that?"

Kitty pushed herself away from the panel she'd been leaning against, "hey wait...that...that does seem sort of...like...y'know...like somethin' I've seen before too."

Remy looked between the three of their blurred faces, hoping for an answer that he himself didn't have yet. Hoping that this small detail would be what led them to finding Rogue.

"Didn't that business card you had from Doctor Lain have that symbol on it?" Hank asked. "I seem to remember having seen it on the desk in your office."

"That could be it," said Professor Xavier after a moment, "but it seems...yes, it seems much more significant. We need to get this system up and running as soon as we can so we can research this further."

"Professor, the power upstairs is working," came a voice from the door.

Remy turned to see Scott standing there, grim as ever, his glasses glimmered red in the floodlights. A seething anger burned within him to see Scott there so completely composed...it was all he could do to keep himself from charging at him.

"Kitty, I need you to help with the programming here," the Professor explained as Hank helped him get back into his chair, "we need to get this up and running as quickly as possible."

Jean pushed by Scott to enter the room, "the main house modem has blown. We tried to get through to the company to get a replacement but no one is working today."

Remy sighed, it was hard to remember that this was New Year's Day. No one was going to be working.

"I'll take a look at it in a while," Hank promised.

"Kurt already did – it's completely fried."

"We'll figure something out," Hank assured.

Remy's thoughts shifted back to the helipad again. That symbol, it was so important, it had to be. If only there was a way to find out more. If only...

Jean hesitated from leaving the room once again, she turned and stared at Remy, her blurred face still showed the concern. He felt so studied by her, like she was looking at him through a microscope, trying to see every minute detail. Not only that, but he felt a strange tugging in her direction, like his mind were being pulled by a strong electric magnet that kept flickering on and off eratically.

"What?" Remy asked anxiously. "What are you doing..."

"You're projecting very loudly, you know."

"No, I don't know," Remy uttered coldly, "I don't know what I'm doing. And what the hell are _you_ doing? Did you just try t' invade my mind?" he demanded, feeling a little hostile.

"You've always been hard to read but..." Jean moved closer, "I'm...catching things...little...flashes of images...it's as if...you're letting your guard down."

"I'm not," Remy uttered, feeling quite violated by what she'd tried to do. "And y' got no right tryin' to put yourself in there."

"I didn't _try,_ Remy. I almost got sucked in it was so open for just a split second..." Jean tried to explain.

The Professor glanced between both Jean and Remy, and he made a soft "Hmm," sound.

"Professor?" asked Jean curiously.

"Remy...how would you feel about Jean trying to invade your memories again?"

Tension tightened Remy's entire back, he rolled his neck a little trying to ease out the strain of it, "How'd y' think I feel? She's tryin' t' stick her nose int' my personal thoughts...besides...I...thought y' couldn' do that."

"Perhaps it's your exhaustion...or your panic but..." the Professor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"But what?" Remy demanded impatiently.

Jean stepped forward a little more, two fingers pressed against her right temple, her eyes were closed as far as Remy could tell, "I can see into you...little pieces...flashes of thoughts..."

"How?" Remy asked, feeling quite unnerved by this; he stepped back a little from her uneasily, feeling like he was under personal attack. He felt as if someone were seeing through his clothes, looking at him exposed and naked. Except...people seeing him naked had never truly bothered him. People seeing into his mind however...was a different story.

"Imagine a wall," Jean explained, "a wall made of bricks and each brick and the cement between them is a natural defence against the outside world, against...lets say a telepath. Normally, the bricks are motionless, but under extreme pressure sometimes the bricks might start to shift and gaps start to appear. There's a possibility I could slip into one of them..."

"What's that gon' achieve?" demanded Remy angrily, "other than y' steppin' into my mind and damagin' it with y' thirty buck pumps?"

Professor Xavier spoke up, "it may help you find Rogue."

"Because you dreamt of that island, the memories of that place will be closer to the gaps in that wall than it would have ever been before. If you work with me, I can take you back there...we may learn things that indicate where and what the place is exactly. The professor is right, it may lead us to Rogue."

Remy glanced between both of them, his throat dry, his teeth gritted. He didn't relish the thought of anyone seeing into his head. But there was no choice. If he ever wanted to see Rogue alive again...he had to take the chance. "Fine. Y' know what, I rarely ever admit it, but I'm desperate here. If lettin' a telepath stomp around in my head is gon' be what gets me to Rogue...if it's really what it's gon' take, then lets do this. Jean, if y' think y' can look int' my head...then do it."

* * *

**End of Part 40**

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed these last few parts I've uploaded. Thanks for the reviews and support everyone. You're all awesome and I can't wait to get the story up and finished (as a lot of people have been begging for it, lol). Also, I'm hoping to eventually be getting the sequel to Derranged Marriage up as well as another new story up eventually, but I'd like to clear this one first. Anyway, love you all, can't wait to hear your thoughts about the new chapters. :)**


	41. Part 41

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 41**

**Stroll**

* * *

He was lying on the floor in the middle of the hallway in the sub-basement not far from the war room. The tiles were cold against his back. Jean Grey was sitting folded legged with his head sitting against her lap, his neck firmly supported on her ankles. It was oddly comfortable, he thought as her cool fingers gently massaged at his temples.

"I need you to relax as much as you possibly can," Jean explained in a very serene voice.

"Y' sure y' can do this?" Remy asked.

"I've practised. I know what I'm doing," she assured.

"Yeah that don' sound too comfortin'," Remy sighed.

"Shut up and close your eyes," she warned.

"Fine."

Jean breathed in, "I need you to relax your body and mind...don't think about Rogue...don't think about where you are, or what I'm doing. Just relax..."

Trying to relax enough took more work than it should have. Just as it seemed like the tension was starting to subside, thoughts would pop up like unwelcome visitors. Where was Rogue, what if Sinister were hurting her? What if they _never_ found her.

The only way he _could_ eventually let himself relax was when the sleepiness began to come in waves over him, as it had been for a while. Finally, just as the final tug of exhaustion had pulled him, he let go and he felt Jean join him in his mind.

It started with tiny images...things he was sure came from Jean's influence and not his own. Voices he didn't recognise, sounds he'd never heard before, and a strange headrush followed by an intense feeling like he'd suddenly dropped (reminding him vaguely of the feeling of being in an elevator). And then there he was, standing in the middle of what looked like a sunset sky.

"Don't panic," came Jean's voice softly and he turned to see her standing there with him, in mid air, holding his hand, her hair floating around her as if they were in water.

"Where are we?" he asked in a curious whisper.

"This is your psyche..." Jean explained softly.

Standing in the distance, there was a silhouette, shoulder length hair flapping around in the wind; a beam of light cut across it revealing Rogue to be standing far away, hugging herself, looking insecure and alone.

"Rogue..." he said, reaching out his free hand towards the girl; she seemed not to hear him. She faded in and out, getting further and further away. "She's getting away..."

"It's just a fractured memory. Try to stay focused," Jean instructed calmly.

A wind swept across them both, and sand brushed against them, changing the scenery around them, the way sand gathers into a dune, it formed into shapes, ground and hills, grains of colour beginning to first carve their way across and then join with the shapes to form beautiful sharp images of the place that Remy had seen. Soon water came rushing around them, lapping at their feet. The sands and waters formed a beach at the bottom of a hill. Jean and Remy both watched mesmerised as the sands of Remy's mind built a wall at the top of the hill, large gates topped with razor met with a dirt road.

"What is this place?" Jean asked.

Remy couldn't feel the wind stirring his hair or the sand that should have been gritting his eyes. He couldn't feel the warm temperature that he knew should have been coming from the hot sun that was blazing above. "This is it...this is the base. He brought me here...this is where he operates from..."

"Good. Just stay focused, just a little longer, and I can anchor us," Jean said softly, her expression one of deep concentration.

They began to slowly hover down towards the sand on the shore, and their feet touched down, although Remy felt nothing. It felt like walking on air, except there was a solid predictability about it that he found altogether odd.

Together, they strolled up the hill, Remy was afraid they would be caught, that cameras would be tracking their every moves and Sinister would be watching from a monitor, waiting for them to step into a trap. The large bolted gates creaked and opened as they approached the entrance. Inside there were soldiers, dressed all in black, wielding impressive looking automatic weapons.

Remy expected them to stop and point the weapons at him, but they didn't; instead, they kept walking, ignoring Jean and himself altogether. "Are these...guys real? Will they stop us?"

"No. They're memories...they're just captured images of people you've seen..."

"Is that why they're faceless?"

"They're faceless because they didn't matter..." Jean explained, gripping tight onto his hand.

"What are we doing here?" Remy asked, "can we find Rogue?"

"No...not in here...this is your memory, Rogue can't be in your memory in this place...she wasn't here before, she won't be here now," Jean explained. "What we are doing here is we need to find something that will give us a clue about where she _may_ be."

They walked throughout the base; there were bunkers...most looked empty...unused, but...ready, as if there were plans for them. Remy would have felt chills had he been in his real body. He dare not let go of Jean's hand, afraid that letting go of her would be to let her go back to reality and leaving him stuck in this nightmare.

Everything looked the way it had when he'd been there and yet...everything looked...different, it looked _wrong_. The sky was the wrong colour, the ground was darker, the soldiers seemed to move inhumanly. Was this just his fear or was this how it had been before, he wondered?

Above, they heard the rotors of a helicopter coming in for landing, it was hellishly loud, and they looked up to see it's direction. "We need to go there," Remy gestured with his free hand, "that's where I saw the symbol."

They walked and walked through out the base, finally happening upon the building where the helicopter had now landed. Holding onto each other's hands, they floated upwards, Remy looked down to see the air beneath his feet but not feeling the weightlessness. As they finally made it to the helipad on the roof, they saw the symbol was there, just as he'd imagined it, in red, the three pronged fork.

"This is it," he said, "the symbol..."

They moved down the steps from the helipad together, and headed towards the double doors of the building; the doors opened for them as if by magic. This was how Remy had remembered going in the first time he'd been brought here. Inside, the walls were stark white, clinically clean, and the hallways and stairwells they travelled were void of any life or workers.

"This place gives me the creeps," Jean whispered.

"You're not the only one," Remy admitted. "Gave me the creeps the first time 'round..."

On and on they moved throughout the hallways; Remy now remembered the security panels on every door he'd been led to; only this time no codes or scans were taking place, they just magically opened as if Jean were a human key. "What do you think he does in this place?" Jean asks.

"I don' really wan' know..."

Finally, they came across two very large double doors that were sealed; the doors wouldn't open for them as the others had, and the two stopped before them, gazing up and down at them in wonder.

"They're not openin'..."

"You were never in here," Jean explained, "you can't see into a room you never entered...so the door will stay closed..."

Remy turned to his left, on the right side of the hall there was a door that was open, he tugged on Jean's hand and led her towards it. "That's right...it was here...he brought me to _this_ room."

The room wouldn't have looked out of place in a University science wing. Benches full of scientific equipment, microscopes, vials and bottles, books and samples. All kinds of machines and technology Remy had no idea what they were for. They walked around the room together, looking for clues.

"This is a genetics lab," Jean stated, she gestured to a monitor on one of the benches, a DNA strand was displayed, spinning slowly, colours flashing and changing, "mutant DNA...see these flashing colours here...that's the x-genes..."

A printer was on the left of the computer, prints still coming out of it as if it were trying to catch up with a huge workload. On a print out of what looked like nonsense and numbers, one word stood out at the bottom of the page, and he read out the letters.

"A...H...S...O...N...E...G. What's Ahsoneg?"

Jean stopped, she frowned, "that's not Ahsoneg...that's Genosha."

"Why is it written backwards?" he made a face.

"Because when you saw it here, you saw it written backwards. Maybe in a reflection on a metal table...or..." she paused to think about this.

"Or when I saw the word through the other side of the paper..." he whispered, his eyes followed as a pale hand reached to the print out and picked it up and held it up to the light to examine it.

Jean gasped a little. They both jumped back just a little and stared at the frighteningly pale doctor with the odd diamond shaped scar in his forehead as his eyes narrowed while he read from the sheet of paper, while speaking. He had just materialised out of nowhere...and as Remy recalled, it had almost seemed that way in real life too.

"_I've a new assignment for you," _said Sinister, quite casually. He lowered the paper. Remy examined the face...he looked so human but _not human. _There was something incredibly...off. It hadn't seemed so obvious back then, but now that he thought of it, there was something very _unnatural_ and indeed _sinister_ about the man.

Remy heard his own voice respond, but couldn't see himself anywhere in the room. He still felt unnerved by the fact that the memories of people in this place were unable to see him.

"_I already told your hired goons that I didn' wan' come back here. I told them I'm quittin' this," _said the memory of Remy. "_They told me I had t' come back regardless and tell y' in person. They wouldn' take _no _f' an answer. So here I am."_

Remy glanced around anxiously, hoping to see himself, but Jean shook her head.

"You can't see yourself...you were there. You don't _see _yourself in a memory."

"_You're quitting?"_ the memory of Sinister asked curiously.

"_Thought I might go straight...f' a lil' while. See how it goes," _said the memory-Remy. "_Tired o' bein' on the run. Need a change...somethin' different. Somethin' a little more...stable._"

"_A Shame...a thief as talented as you has such potential," _the Memory-Sinister admitted thoughtfully.

_ "Thievin' is a lonely business. If y' ain' spendin' all y' time researchin' blueprints, eaves droppin', makin' plans and sneakin' about at night, y' pretendin' t' be something and someone y' not jus' t' get y' foot in the door or t' get the right information. I'm tired o' it all. Tired o' late nights n' lonely days."_

_ "I see."_

Remy watched the memory of Sinister as he listened patiently to the memory of himself. Now that he was here, he remembered it _all_ so very clearly.

_"I don' know why I even do the shit I do. I don' need money. I got money 'til it comin' out my ears. Why wan' more? It ain' like I have plans t' use it for tuition for college or startin' up a business. I don' buy fancy cars or wan' buy a big mansion with a hundred acres. My money is jus' sittin' idle...and havin' it is jus' temptation. Every guy my age who got that kind o' money end up on drugs and drink...die in car accidents and of overdoses an' I scared I gon' do the same."_

_ "They do say that money is the root of all evil," _mused Sinister. "_So, Remy LeBeau, what will you do?" _asked the Sinister-memory curiously.

"_I thought maybe travel for a bit...with a friend. I ain' got what it takes to be with her family, and I certainly ain' got the tolerance t' try, but if she can forgive me __for past indiscretions, then maybe she give me a second chance and come adventure w' me. I don't know."_

The Sinister-memory had a very odd look on his face, like he was reading a book and had just sussed the conclusion _before_ reading the final chapter. "_You're in love with this girl."_

Remy frowned; he remembered exactly now how this conversation had gone, and how he'd been sucked into doing as the Doctor wanted.

"_What's it to you?"_ asked the Memory-Remy.

"_You refer to her as a friend, yet the tone of your voice speaks that you wish for more with her. But something stands in the way of that love...what is that? Is it your profession as a Thief?"_

_ "No! It's..." _the memory of Remy paused, "_personal," _he finished_._

_ "I see. She's human, and you aren't," _Sinister-memory tried. Remy had never realised how very phony he'd sounded at the time he'd asked these questions. He supposed had he been less pre-occupied, he may have noticed.

"_No. She a mutant, same as me. But that's the problem...her powers prevent us from get'n' closer..."_

Sinister-memory smiled, "_What if...I had a solution to that problem? What if I said that the very assignment I have for you would lead to a cure for the girl you love?"_

_ "I'd say it had t' be too good t' be true."_

The memory of Sinister dissolved. Remy realised he'd forgotten the other details, the conversation following the revelation. It didn't matter. He'd heard all he needed to, and he was sure Jean had too.

Jean turned to look at Remy, "he knew all along what Rogue's powers were...and he knew how you felt about her._"_

Remy would have swallowed hard had he not been nothing more than a ghost in his own memory. "I was manipulated. How the hell did I let that happen? How..." he shook his head, not feeling himself doing it. "How could I let him do that? I'm a master at manipulation. How could I not see it was happenin' to me?"

"You sounded distracted in this memory. Clearly you were unhappy...people rarely decide to change their lives around when they're content with life," Jean pointed out. "Perhaps, like yourself, Sinister has a way of manipulating people flawlessly. In this case, he took advantage."

"And I let him."

"You let him because of love," Jean reminded, "and as much mess as it's gotten us into right now..." she sighed, "at least your heart was in the right place."

"Can we get out o' here? I've seen 'nough of this. I don' like this memory."

"We still don't know where we are," Jean glanced around the lab anxiously, her red hair floating around her. She spied something on the wall to the back of the room, which only at that moment did they both realise had a large map pinned to it. "Africa...that's Africa..." she pulled Remy towards the wall, "look, that blip there next to Africa..."

"Where...?"

"Look close...east side...north of Madagascar...right there...see the tiny little red fork? This is it...this is Genosha...We're _on_ Genosha..."

"Excellent," said Remy, forcing enthusiasm. "So...I just have one question. What the hell is Genosha?"

Jean gave a deep sigh, it echoed as the memory around them began to fade. "I...don't know."

* * *

**End of Part 41**

* * *

Thank you so much to everyone for your awesome and kind reviews. I didn't know so many of you still actually read this story (and I was totally blown away by how many of you are still asking for the sequel to Derranged Marriage!). At any rate, this is bringing us one step closer to the end of Blind Leading the Blind. I hadn't realised it'd been over a year since I started working on this! Time has just SO FLOWN BY, LOL. Anyway, thank you all 3


	42. Part 42

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 41**

**Stroll**

* * *

He was lying on the floor in the middle of the hallway in the sub-basement not far from the war room. The tiles were cold against his back. Jean Grey was sitting folded legged with his head sitting against her lap, his neck firmly supported on her ankles. It was oddly comfortable, he thought as her cool fingers gently massaged at his temples.

"I need you to relax as much as you possibly can," Jean explained in a very serene voice.

"Y' sure y' can do this?" Remy asked.

"I've practised. I know what I'm doing," she assured.

"Yeah that don' sound too comfortin'," Remy sighed.

"Shut up and close your eyes," she warned.

"Fine."

Jean breathed in, "I need you to relax your body and mind...don't think about Rogue...don't think about where you are, or what I'm doing. Just relax..."

Trying to relax enough took more work than it should have. Just as it seemed like the tension was starting to subside, thoughts would pop up like unwelcome visitors. Where was Rogue, what if Sinister were hurting her? What if they _never_ found her.

The only way he _could_ eventually let himself relax was when the sleepiness began to come in waves over him, as it had been for a while. Finally, just as the final tug of exhaustion had pulled him, he let go and he felt Jean join him in his mind.

It started with tiny images...things he was sure came from Jean's influence and not his own. Voices he didn't recognise, sounds he'd never heard before, and a strange headrush followed by an intense feeling like he'd suddenly dropped (reminding him vaguely of the feeling of being in an elevator). And then there he was, standing in the middle of what looked like a sunset sky.

"Don't panic," came Jean's voice softly and he turned to see her standing there with him, in mid air, holding his hand, her hair floating around her as if they were in water.

"Where are we?" he asked in a curious whisper.

"This is your psyche..." Jean explained softly.

Standing in the distance, there was a silhouette, shoulder length hair flapping around in the wind; a beam of light cut across it revealing Rogue to be standing far away, hugging herself, looking insecure and alone.

"Rogue..." he said, reaching out his free hand towards the girl; she seemed not to hear him. She faded in and out, getting further and further away. "She's getting away..."

"It's just a fractured memory. Try to stay focused," Jean instructed calmly.

A wind swept across them both, and sand brushed against them, changing the scenery around them, the way sand gathers into a dune, it formed into shapes, ground and hills, grains of colour beginning to first carve their way across and then join with the shapes to form beautiful sharp images of the place that Remy had seen. Soon water came rushing around them, lapping at their feet. The sands and waters formed a beach at the bottom of a hill. Jean and Remy both watched mesmerised as the sands of Remy's mind built a wall at the top of the hill, large gates topped with razor met with a dirt road.

"What is this place?" Jean asked.

Remy couldn't feel the wind stirring his hair or the sand that should have been gritting his eyes. He couldn't feel the warm temperature that he knew should have been coming from the hot sun that was blazing above. "This is it...this is the base. He brought me here...this is where he operates from..."

"Good. Just stay focused, just a little longer, and I can anchor us," Jean said softly, her expression one of deep concentration.

They began to slowly hover down towards the sand on the shore, and their feet touched down, although Remy felt nothing. It felt like walking on air, except there was a solid predictability about it that he found altogether odd.

Together, they strolled up the hill, Remy was afraid they would be caught, that cameras would be tracking their every moves and Sinister would be watching from a monitor, waiting for them to step into a trap. The large bolted gates creaked and opened as they approached the entrance. Inside there were soldiers, dressed all in black, wielding impressive looking automatic weapons.

Remy expected them to stop and point the weapons at him, but they didn't; instead, they kept walking, ignoring Jean and himself altogether. "Are these...guys real? Will they stop us?"

"No. They're memories...they're just captured images of people you've seen..."

"Is that why they're faceless?"

"They're faceless because they didn't matter..." Jean explained, gripping tight onto his hand.

"What are we doing here?" Remy asked, "can we find Rogue?"

"No...not in here...this is your memory, Rogue can't be in your memory in this place...she wasn't here before, she won't be here now," Jean explained. "What we are doing here is we need to find something that will give us a clue about where she _may_ be."

They walked throughout the base; there were bunkers...most looked empty...unused, but...ready, as if there were plans for them. Remy would have felt chills had he been in his real body. He dare not let go of Jean's hand, afraid that letting go of her would be to let her go back to reality and leaving him stuck in this nightmare.

Everything looked the way it had when he'd been there and yet...everything looked...different, it looked _wrong_. The sky was the wrong colour, the ground was darker, the soldiers seemed to move inhumanly. Was this just his fear or was this how it had been before, he wondered?

Above, they heard the rotors of a helicopter coming in for landing, it was hellishly loud, and they looked up to see it's direction. "We need to go there," Remy gestured with his free hand, "that's where I saw the symbol."

They walked and walked through out the base, finally happening upon the building where the helicopter had now landed. Holding onto each other's hands, they floated upwards, Remy looked down to see the air beneath his feet but not feeling the weightlessness. As they finally made it to the helipad on the roof, they saw the symbol was there, just as he'd imagined it, in red, the three pronged fork.

"This is it," he said, "the symbol..."

They moved down the steps from the helipad together, and headed towards the double doors of the building; the doors opened for them as if by magic. This was how Remy had remembered going in the first time he'd been brought here. Inside, the walls were stark white, clinically clean, and the hallways and stairwells they travelled were void of any life or workers.

"This place gives me the creeps," Jean whispered.

"You're not the only one," Remy admitted. "Gave me the creeps the first time 'round..."

On and on they moved throughout the hallways; Remy now remembered the security panels on every door he'd been led to; only this time no codes or scans were taking place, they just magically opened as if Jean were a human key. "What do you think he does in this place?" Jean asks.

"I don' really wan' know..."

Finally, they came across two very large double doors that were sealed; the doors wouldn't open for them as the others had, and the two stopped before them, gazing up and down at them in wonder.

"They're not openin'..."

"You were never in here," Jean explained, "you can't see into a room you never entered...so the door will stay closed..."

Remy turned to his left, on the right side of the hall there was a door that was open, he tugged on Jean's hand and led her towards it. "That's right...it was here...he brought me to _this_ room."

The room wouldn't have looked out of place in a University science wing. Benches full of scientific equipment, microscopes, vials and bottles, books and samples. All kinds of machines and technology Remy had no idea what they were for. They walked around the room together, looking for clues.

"This is a genetics lab," Jean stated, she gestured to a monitor on one of the benches, a DNA strand was displayed, spinning slowly, colours flashing and changing, "mutant DNA...see these flashing colours here...that's the x-genes..."

A printer was on the left of the computer, prints still coming out of it as if it were trying to catch up with a huge workload. On a print out of what looked like nonsense and numbers, one word stood out at the bottom of the page, and he read out the letters.

"A...H...S...O...N...E...G. What's Ahsoneg?"

Jean stopped, she frowned, "that's not Ahsoneg...that's Genosha."

"Why is it written backwards?" he made a face.

"Because when you saw it here, you saw it written backwards. Maybe in a reflection on a metal table...or..." she paused to think about this.

"Or when I saw the word through the other side of the paper..." he whispered, his eyes followed as a pale hand reached to the print out and picked it up and held it up to the light to examine it.

Jean gasped a little. They both jumped back just a little and stared at the frighteningly pale doctor with the odd diamond shaped scar in his forehead as his eyes narrowed while he read from the sheet of paper, while speaking. He had just materialised out of nowhere...and as Remy recalled, it had almost seemed that way in real life too.

"_I've a new assignment for you," _said Sinister, quite casually. He lowered the paper. Remy examined the face...he looked so human but _not human. _There was something incredibly...off. It hadn't seemed so obvious back then, but now that he thought of it, there was something very _unnatural_ and indeed _sinister_ about the man.

Remy heard his own voice respond, but couldn't see himself anywhere in the room. He still felt unnerved by the fact that the memories of people in this place were unable to see him.

"_I already told your hired goons that I didn' wan' come back here. I told them I'm quittin' this," _said the memory of Remy. "_They told me I had t' come back regardless and tell y' in person. They wouldn' take _no _f' an answer. So here I am."_

Remy glanced around anxiously, hoping to see himself, but Jean shook her head.

"You can't see yourself...you were there. You don't _see _yourself in a memory."

"_You're quitting?"_ the memory of Sinister asked curiously.

"_Thought I might go straight...f' a lil' while. See how it goes," _said the memory-Remy. "_Tired o' bein' on the run. Need a change...somethin' different. Somethin' a little more...stable._"

"_A Shame...a thief as talented as you has such potential," _the Memory-Sinister admitted thoughtfully.

_ "Thievin' is a lonely business. If y' ain' spendin' all y' time researchin' blueprints, eaves droppin', makin' plans and sneakin' about at night, y' pretendin' t' be something and someone y' not jus' t' get y' foot in the door or t' get the right information. I'm tired o' it all. Tired o' late nights n' lonely days."_

_ "I see."_

Remy watched the memory of Sinister as he listened patiently to the memory of himself. Now that he was here, he remembered it _all_ so very clearly.

_"I don' know why I even do the shit I do. I don' need money. I got money 'til it comin' out my ears. Why wan' more? It ain' like I have plans t' use it for tuition for college or startin' up a business. I don' buy fancy cars or wan' buy a big mansion with a hundred acres. My money is jus' sittin' idle...and havin' it is jus' temptation. Every guy my age who got that kind o' money end up on drugs and drink...die in car accidents and of overdoses an' I scared I gon' do the same."_

_ "They do say that money is the root of all evil," _mused Sinister. "_So, Remy LeBeau, what will you do?" _asked the Sinister-memory curiously.

"_I thought maybe travel for a bit...with a friend. I ain' got what it takes to be with her family, and I certainly ain' got the tolerance t' try, but if she can forgive me __for past indiscretions, then maybe she give me a second chance and come adventure w' me. I don't know."_

The Sinister-memory had a very odd look on his face, like he was reading a book and had just sussed the conclusion _before_ reading the final chapter. "_You're in love with this girl."_

Remy frowned; he remembered exactly now how this conversation had gone, and how he'd been sucked into doing as the Doctor wanted.

"_What's it to you?"_ asked the Memory-Remy.

"_You refer to her as a friend, yet the tone of your voice speaks that you wish for more with her. But something stands in the way of that love...what is that? Is it your profession as a Thief?"_

_ "No! It's..." _the memory of Remy paused, "_personal," _he finished_._

_ "I see. She's human, and you aren't," _Sinister-memory tried. Remy had never realised how very phony he'd sounded at the time he'd asked these questions. He supposed had he been less pre-occupied, he may have noticed.

"_No. She a mutant, same as me. But that's the problem...her powers prevent us from get'n' closer..."_

Sinister-memory smiled, "_What if...I had a solution to that problem? What if I said that the very assignment I have for you would lead to a cure for the girl you love?"_

_ "I'd say it had t' be too good t' be true."_

The memory of Sinister dissolved. Remy realised he'd forgotten the other details, the conversation following the revelation. It didn't matter. He'd heard all he needed to, and he was sure Jean had too.

Jean turned to look at Remy, "he knew all along what Rogue's powers were...and he knew how you felt about her._"_

Remy would have swallowed hard had he not been nothing more than a ghost in his own memory. "I was manipulated. How the hell did I let that happen? How..." he shook his head, not feeling himself doing it. "How could I let him do that? I'm a master at manipulation. How could I not see it was happenin' to me?"

"You sounded distracted in this memory. Clearly you were unhappy...people rarely decide to change their lives around when they're content with life," Jean pointed out. "Perhaps, like yourself, Sinister has a way of manipulating people flawlessly. In this case, he took advantage."

"And I let him."

"You let him because of love," Jean reminded, "and as much mess as it's gotten us into right now..." she sighed, "at least your heart was in the right place."

"Can we get out o' here? I've seen 'nough of this. I don' like this memory."

"We still don't know where we are," Jean glanced around the lab anxiously, her red hair floating around her. She spied something on the wall to the back of the room, which only at that moment did they both realise had a large map pinned to it. "Africa...that's Africa..." she pulled Remy towards the wall, "look, that blip there next to Africa..."

"Where...?"

"Look close...east side...north of Madagascar...right there...see the tiny little red fork? This is it...this is Genosha...We're _on_ Genosha..."

"Excellent," said Remy, forcing enthusiasm. "So...I just have one question. What the hell is Genosha?"

Jean gave a deep sigh, it echoed as the memory around them began to fade. "I...don't know."

* * *

**End of Part 41**

* * *

Thank you so much to everyone for your awesome and kind reviews. I didn't know so many of you still actually read this story (and I was totally blown away by how many of you are still asking for the sequel to Derranged Marriage!). At any rate, this is bringing us one step closer to the end of Blind Leading the Blind. I hadn't realised it'd been over a year since I started working on this! Time has just SO FLOWN BY, LOL. Anyway, thank you all 3


	43. Part 43

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 43**

**Journey**

* * *

Remy was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut. It wasn't that Scott was doing anything in particular that annoyed him, but every little time the guy cleared his throat, took a deep breath, scratched his nose, moved a lever or flicked a switch on the panel in the plane...well...everything just caused Remy to feel jarred and uneasy.

_It's the shards. It's the shards. It's the shards, _Remy reminded himself in a mantra. They were in a container in the back of the plane packed in dry ice to prevent them from becoming hot. It seemed to be an effect that had been quickly established that when emotions were running high, the shards started to heat up, and their whole structure began to change. No one was sure if under the 'right' circumstances they might explode entirely, so Hank had packed them in dry ice as a precaution should it occur. In a plane with two young men who didn't get along, _anything_ could happen.

He'd wondered why it was that _Storm_ hadn't been the one to accompany him in this journey; it'd have certainly made more sense if she'd been the one to come along, she was senior in the team, and extremely powerful in comparison to the others. He'd tried to broach the subject before they had left but the X-Men had avoided answering altogether, and Scott would say nothing against _any_ of his team mates. If Remy hadn't known better, he'd have thought perhaps the woman was afraid of flying...which didn't make sense as she could do so quite freely _without _the use of a plane.

_Either that, or she got issues in small spaces,_ he thought as he looked around the cramped area of the plane.

It had been a long journey; Remy had unintentionally fallen asleep through some of it, and although he wished he hadn't (as he felt it inexcusable to fall asleep when Rogue was in danger) he couldn't help but feel it might have been for the best. If he was sleeping, he couldn't feel annoyed by Scott, and Scott couldn't feel annoyed with him.

However, he couldn't sleep forever, and the silence was uncomfortable. It wasn't like the plane had a radio to play music, and other than the occasional communication with the X-Men back in Bayville, there was barely any sound other than the drone of the engines.

Remy glanced over the unbelievable blue of the water on the horizon, and the green and gold of lands beneath. Colours he had almost forgotten, colours that seemed so much more beautiful and vibrant than he'd ever remembered them being. In desperation to hear anything other than uncomfortable silence, he spoke up.

"It's weird," Remy admitted. Just being able to break the silence seemed to make the air feel lighter, he wasn't sure why.

"What is?" asked Scott, sounding very uninterested already.

"It all looks different...the colours, the sky, the earth...the snow...everything is brighter...more vivid..." Remy explained. "I don' remember them bein' so bright before. Even little things, like freckles even on my own hand...or...tiny minute details on things like the grain on a wooden table...it's insane how incredible everythin' looks. Like bein' in the middle of my own 3D HD movie."

"It's your imagination," said Scott. "You took your vision for granted and failed to notice the little things...and now that you've had a taste of blindness, you no longer take it for granted. You see the world for what it is."

"I guess," Remy agreed. "I jus' wonder if it's gonna wear off. Like a novelty."

"Probably," said Scott; he checked the GPS on the panel, he adjusted the controls. "You don't have to make small talk, you know," he said after a moment.

"I know that," Remy replied, he rubbed the back of his neck; sitting for so long in a cramped plane was becoming quite uncomfortable. "It's jus'...I never been the type o' guy who can jus' sit in silence and not say anythin'."

Scott had no reply to this; apparently he _was_ that type of guy. The odd thing was, that Remy was almost positive Scott wasn't doing it to be difficult, but rather attempting to maintain his feelings on the subject to avoid an argument. Remy didn't continue trying to make small talk in respect for this. Instead, he sat and stewed, thinking about things, thinking of every stupid thing that had led them to this moment.

_Everything that's happening now...it's my own damn fault,_ Remy told himself sullenly. _If we die, it'll be my fault. If Rogue gets hurt, it'll be my fault._ _If these shards lead to the end of the world as we know it, it'll be my fault._

For the next few hours, Remy remained silent as he spent time in the company of his dark depressing thoughts. He was almost positive the thoughts, while not completely the fault of the shards, must definitely have been amplified by them, because now the thoughts were churning within him.

The longer time went on, the harder it became to keep his mouth shut. Didn't want to say the things that were spinning around his head, he didn't want to say he was petrified that something terrible may be happening to Rogue. He didn't want to admit that he was sorry he'd gotten them into this, and that he'd never ever done anything noble in his life. He didn't want to say _anything._

But impulse had other plans. It was like a pot of boiling water, rising to the surface, bubbles reaching higher and higher, and there was no choice. Somewhere within himself he realised that it was too late, he'd had too much exposure to those shards, and even the short hiatus Logan had taken them away was not enough to prevent the effects from resurfacing. The feelings of doom and despair were there, of intense love, and heartache and anger and loathing, and desperation. And he was _aware_ of it this time...but being aware didn't make it any easier to avoid reacting impulsively. The darker the sky became, Remy's thoughts raced to match.

Suddenly, without really even having properly thought it through, Remy let his feelings out in a quick burst of frustration. "Y'know what? I screwed up!". He instantly regretted saying it, and he expected an immediate reaction, expected an argument, expected _something._

Scott said nothing to this, but slowly turned to look at him in a mix of disbelief.

"You were right about...everything," Remy shook his head as he stared out of the plane, his stomach churning with guilt and regret, both with his mistakes and his embarrassment of admitting he was wrong to Scott. "It's my fault this happened...it's my fault she got taken, it's my fault we're here now. No one to blame but myself."

Again, Scott was silent.

Remy looked down at the land below, seeing it but not seeing it, feeling like he were in a daze. "I've made a lot o' stupid mistakes in m' life. Fallin' in love was probably one o' the stupidest..." he shook his head at himself, wondering if he'd have said these things at all if it weren't for the shards. Then again, would he have been _aware _of it if the shards were causing him to say these things? He was just so unsure about so many things now. "I jus'...I don' know how it happened. I was tryin' t' blow her ass up one minute, and then...suddenly, that was it. Couldn' get her out of my mind. I'm fightin' her and all the while, I can't take my eyes off of hers. For months, couldn' get her out of m' mind..."

"And you knew the only way you could be with her is to have the cure," Scott finally spoke.

"It's not _like_ that," Remy said quickly. "It's _never_ been like that. My feelin's for Rogue is differen' t' how I felt for any other girl."

"So you're saying...this isn't just about you wanting what you can't have and needing to _conquer_ the _unconquerable?_"

Remy shook his head, "It was never 'bout sex," he assured honestly.

"Oh come on," Scott muttered. "I've heard the rumours about you. Kitty has dated Lance Alvers for gods sake, he told her he saw you with a different girl every night, you don't think she told _us_ about that?"

"Believe what ever y' like," Remy retorted coldly. "My feelin's for Rogue are like yours for Jean. It's _genuine_. It's _love_. If it wasn', you think I'd _be _here? You think I'd risk my own skin t' save someone I didn' give a shit 'bout?"

"If it's love then you didn't need a cure. You can love someone without ever needing to touch them," Scott pointed out.

"Y' don' think I know that?" demanded Remy quickly. "I've _known_ that since the moment I knew how I felt 'bout her. It wasn' _about_ me wantin' to touch her. It was about her bein' too scared t' get close to _anyone...t' me."_

"You expect me to believe that this was all about getting Rogue to let her guard down?"

"Like I say, y' can believe what y' like," Remy sighed. "All I know is that I don' care if I never get t' be with Rogue that way. I've been wit' many girls, I've had my fill. I can do wit' out."

"Really," smirked Scott, sounding doubtful.

"I enjoy it, don' get me wrong," Remy shrugged, "but I don't feel happy. And it's weird t' say, but even bein' _miserable_ with Rogue...is better than feelin' _nothin'_ with a strange girl in bed. Least it's feelin' _somethin' rather than nothin'._ But I don' expect _you_ to understand about feelin' _nothin'_ with a girl, 'cause I'm pretty certain y' _never _had a girl in that way..." Remy hadn't meant it as an insult, but he was somewhat convinced it may sound the same anyway.

"I..." Scott began, his face flushing. Remy had the distinct impression that Scott wasn't going to _deny_ his innocence in that area, but rather that he was simply embarrassed to have it brought up regarding himself. Regarding sex, the guy was somewhat...old fashioned, and didn't seem to really know _what_ to say.

Remy shook his head, staring out of the window, refusing to look at the guy, "I know you better than y' think I do," he admitted. "Unlike me, y' too _decent_ t' use a girl in that way," he sighed, "probably why Rogue loves y'. Why she _worship y'._ I can't blame the girl. She don' want a _cad_ like me, she want someone _decent. _A _hero," _Remy explained. "I can't compete with that."

Scott snorted, "don't pretend like you don't know that girls like Rogue only go for guys like me because they're _dependable,_ and _kind. _It's settling."

Slightly surprised, Remy turned to look at Scott.

"They go to guys like you for adventure. And passion. You know...the _real_ feelings...not the settling."

Remy shook his head, "after all that's happened, I don't think Rogue's gon' wanna look for adventure any more..." he looked down to see they were approaching land. "Is this it?"

"Yep," Scott's jaw was set. "Welcome back to Genosha."

* * *

**End of Part 43**

* * *

**Ahhhh we're getting close to the end now, just three more chapters. I hope you all enjoy the story and the way it pans out. I'm looking forward to uploading the final part especially as this story has taken so long to just get to the end of. Love you all.**


	44. Part 44

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 44**

**Arrival**

* * *

Night had fallen upon the Island of Genosha but it was far too cloudy for the moon to let its light cut a path through the darkness. Some of the buildings were lit up but none as brightly as the central building which Remy now recognised as the research centre of Sinister's operation. The research centre was a horrible featureless building reminiscent of the architecture of the concentration camps during the Holocaust. These places were fortress built; fortresses and barracks.

Even in the dark, with the limited lighting, Scott at once commented, "it's like a..." he frowned, "prison."

"Lets just get in and out of here..." Remy shivered inwardly as he stared down at the place.

"Radio silence," Scott observed, "odd...you'd think we'd have been contacted already since you're expected..."

"It's fishy," Remy agreed.

"I'm not going to land on the helicopter pad," Scott decided.

"Could be a trap either way," Remy reasoned, his stomach twisting at the thought. He hated to admit to even himself that the thought of going back into action after having been out of it for so long. He hoped everything felt just as natural as it always had before he'd been blinded. "But y' right. Don' land inside the walls..."

Scott landed the plane near the shore; there was a decent patch of land with enough space for the plane to land and take off, but far away enough from the high walls. As they left the plane, both young men glanced at the large steel gates. Remy felt that odd sense of dread that he had the first time he'd been here, only now it was amplified, just like every other feeling he had.

"Will the gates be unlocked?" Scott queried as they walked up the hill from the shore.

"Hope so," Remy drew his breath.

"If they aren't, what's the alternative?"

"As far as I know, only ground entrance is gates. Can fly over the walls, but you opted t' not do that. Walls are unscaleable."

"You're sure?" asked Scott, he stopped dead.

"I'm trained t' look for these things," Remy explained, "smooth cement, no cracks or dents t' grip on t', and even if there were, once y' get t' the top, y' rip y'self apart tryin' to get past that razor wire, which has got t' be at _least_ six feet. The wall itself is probably about five feet deep...it'd be impossible t' get past it wit' out getting seriously hurt."

"Could you blast your way through?" Scott queried.

"Probably. No doubt we both could but we wan' try and approach as quiet as possible."

"Why bother, he _knows _we're here."

"He know we're here, yeah, but y' don' think he's gon' have guards up? Alarms? Y' think he just gon' hand over Rogue for the shards? Somethin' feels off..."

"I agree. It's _too_ quiet. There'd be guards all over these gates outside," Scott agreed. "What about secret entrances?"

"I don' doubt there's a few," Remy admitted, "but I ain' ever been here without an escort, so I ain' had time t' seek 'em out and right now jus' _ain'_ the time. We gotta get in there and get Rogue. God knows what that evil bastard is doin' to her."

They were quiet as they approached the gates; Remy drew a breath and pushed hard against the left side, finding that it budged against his weight only slightly. It was heavier than he had anticipated. Scott came up beside him and they both pushed hard as they could, the gate moving at the effort, the hinges creaked loudly in objection. They only managed to move it enough that a small gap was left for them to get through.

"Least that's one less worry," Scott said as he followed Remy through cautiously.

Remy stopped Scott from walking further, pressing a hand hard against his shoulder, "Sssh," he commanded as his eyes roved over dark areas, in between the buildings, and in black corners where the light didn't touch. He saw nothing, no signs of movements, he heard no noises indicating any nearby life.

"What's wrong?" Scott whispered.

"It's too quiet," Remy replied under his breath. "I don' buy it."

They walked together, trying to be silent, moving between the buildings, trying to take the least obvious paths between the darkest areas they could.

_Why we botherin' with the silent approach anyway?_ Wondered Remy sullenly as he sneaked beside Scott who was in his opinion, quiet inept when it came to stealthy approach. _Sinister already knows we're here, don' matter how quietly we arrive, it ain' gonna make a difference._

Scott bumped into a plastic water barrel, he muttered a swear word as it made a loud thump and rolled away, making their approach even more obvious than it probably would have been.

"Jesus christ, you suck at being stealthy," Remy hissed.

"Shut up," Scott warned, "I'm wearing a visor, do you know how hard it is to see through this thing in the dark? I don't have a night vision filter!"

"Maybe y' should think about askin' the Prof to hook you up with one," Remy muttered, "all that technology, surely there's somethin' they could-" he was cut off when a bright light hit the both of them. A spot light was on them, and the both of them looked around themselves to see that they were surrounded by what seemed to be about twenty men in thick black padded armor, full helmets obscuring their faces.

"Well...fuck," said Scott, which surprised even Remy.

"My feelin's exactly," admitted Remy, bracing himself.

The skirmish began; Scott shooting left and right with his optic blasts as Remy awkwardly dodged, kicked, and swung his bo-staff at the enemy. Despite his inactivity in the last month, he had barely lost his edge (although he noted his back felt ever so less flexible than it once had).

It took some effort to get the heavily armored guys down; he'd taken down three guys, and Scott had taken down six. Several more were arriving, they were all brawlers with melee weapons, batons and whips, no munitions. To Remy the lack of any guns seemed to suggest that Sinister didn't want him or Scott _damaged_ physically. For what purpose, he was unsure. Maybe to have someone to test the 'cure' on? Remy couldn't say.

More of Sinister's black-armed soldiers arrived, and Remy felt panic beginning to settle in. He was a good fighter – and so was Scott – but they could not defeat all of them. It had not been until the battle had begun that he had realised one severe error he had made was not bringing playing cards with him. He always carried them for battle, to use as something to charge and use as a projectile. This time, in his haste to get here and save Rogue, somehow, it had slipped his mind to find something to bring.

One of the soldiers had a stun gun, and as he was dodging back and forth trying to avoid being hit by it, he suddenly remembered that he _did_ have something he could use as projectiles. The hallucinogenic pellets that Kitty had given him when she'd been helping him suit up before he and Scott had left. Of course that left a dilemma...he was too close to use them, and he wasn't sure if the effects would work given that the soldiers were wearing helmets which looked like they would prevent the effects from working upon them.

"Helmets!" Remy called to Scott, hoping that he would understand.

And so the pair of them went to it, yanking off helmets, shooting them off, the pair circling, dodging and flipping between the confusion of the soldiers as their headgear was ripped free and tossed aside, as Remy passed by Scott he called out, "run."

"You've got to be kidding!" Scott yelled, he'd punched one of Sinister's goons square in the nose while simultaneously firing an optic beam at the other goon to his left.

"Trust me."

"Some comedian," Scott said.

"Jus' do it!"

Scott took off running, a few of the goons chased after him, but the majority wanted to stay with Remy.

"I see I'm definitely more popular than one eye," Remy remarked, reaching into the pouch of pellets and feeling around for a good handful of them. He began charging them, feeling a slight surge that told him his powers had been building up for some time. This explosion was going to be a doozy, and he was going to have to make sure to be ready to get out of the way.

With trepidation, he removed his hand from the bag and tossed the pellets towards the thugs, then flipped himself out of the way and began running. The explosion threw him and several of the guards several feet away from the area of the blast, and the noise left Remy's ears ringing as he struggled to pick himself up as the smoke began to carry.

He heard the cries and confusion of the soldiers who weren't killed or seriously injured by the blast, the hallucinogenic properties of the capsules had begun to work. Remy saw the purple smoke reaching him, it was thinning out as he ran further, he used a crate to jump and propel himself onto the low roof of a small hut, hoping that the smoke wouldn't rise enough to affect him. It was too late, it was already starting to happen; the colours of the area around him were beginning to brighten, and his vision began to slightly blur. The world seemed to sway as he used his bo-staff to vault himself to the roof of the nearby barracks and he climbed higher trying to escape it.

Sounds echoed within his ear, screams as the soldiers fought off their own personal unimaginable horrors. Standing on the roof he gazed across, he could see the building where Sinister had been before, the _research_ lab. It seemed to wave in and out of being close and far away, lighting up red and flashing.

He heard things he knew he couldn't have heard, Rogue's voice, Scott's voice, the Professor's voice. He went back to the ground, and began running towards the lab, his heart beating fast within his chest, his head swimming with the hallucinogen. He remembered the communicator on his belt and he reached for it, hitting the button.

"I'm headin' for the lab," Remy stated.

"_Where's Cyclops?"_ came Jean's reply a second later, the sound somewhat static.

"I don' know," Remy said, gasping for breath, "he ran the other direction, we got separated..." he paused for a minute to lean against the wall. He was unsure if it was the stress of all the action, or the effects of what he'd inhaled accidentally, but he was struggling to breathe. "How..." he began, having to swallow and try to relax, "how long does this hallucinogenic shit last?" he gazed across at the lab, which now seemed to be melting into an ugly red version of Sinister's twisted face.

"_Depending on how much you inhaled...it could be twenty minutes_."

_Fuck, _thought Remy frustratedly as he began walking slowly towards the lab trying to catch his breath. "If y' get in touch with Cyclops tell him I'm goin' in," he said before putting the communicator back on his belt.

As he approached the building, two guards came through the double doors at the front, at first, they _did_ look normal, and then, they began to change, their bodies seemed to bend and twist, until they were mantis-like.

_No way am I in condition t' fight this,_ Remy thought as he swayed unsteadily as the guards began running towards him. His mind swimming, he thrust his hand into the pouch with the capsules and found just three left. He was going to have to be quick for this one, he rushed towards the doors as he tossed them to the ground, hearing the glass shatter and the hiss of the gas as it turned to smoke. He heard the cry of confusion of the soldiers as he threw himself through the glass doors turned himself around and slid his bo-staff through the double handles, effectively blocking the door from being opened from the other side. Through the glass he saw the smoke begin to swallow the area outside, and one of the guards hit the door as he desperately tried to get out, screaming in terror at something Remy couldn't see. Remy backed away, seeing the smoke begin to seep under the door and he turned looking around the hall. The doors leading into the rest of the lab were shut, requiring a security card and pin to get through. Remy didn't have anything else to use as a projectile. There were security cameras poised at each corner of the room, and they seemed to move of their own accord, dangling from long tentacle-like supports that swung and swayed as they watched him, the lenses resembled eyes and almost seemed to blink at him.

_It's an illusion, it's an illusion,_ he reminded himself trying to get a grip of himself. He gave the cameras the finger, and yelled out "I'm here for her, Sinister! Lets get this over with!"

A few seconds later, he heard a buzz, and the red light on the door security panel became green, and the doors slid open to allow him through. He began to follow the path that he'd taken the other times he'd been here, naturally knowing which way to go. Finally, he found himself outside of the lab he'd usually found the _human _Sinister in on his previous visits. This time the doors were closed, but the large doors that he and Jean had observed in the trip through his memories _were_ open. He glanced through them, seeing a hall that led past three more sets of open doors and an elevator.

He was dubious about going into that elevator, but there was little choice. This seemed to be the only way down. He held onto the wall, feeling unsteady, breathless and tired; the lights seemed to dim in and out, and the doors seemed to melt in their frames.

He drew a breath and began the journey through the hall; as he walked, the melting doors began to gather into gooey puddles around his feet that began to slow him, sticking him to the spot. He began to sink slowly into the black substance, and he clawed desperately at the floor. Was this a trap? Was this _real?_ He clenched his teeth and used all the strength he could muster to try and pull himself out of the inky black gunk.

_It isn't real, it isn't real,_ he kept repeating in his head. He closed his eyes tightly and fought it all, and when he opened his eyes a moment later, he found himself lying on his stomach on the floor, clutching onto the edge of the tiles, no goo holding him there, and the doors were still in tact. The room was still swaying though, and he felt dizzy as he awkwardly pulled himself up and began walking unsteadily towards the elevator. The doors opened for him as he approached, almost as if they had been expecting him. He stepped in, glancing around, it was a standard elevator, but there was no escape hatch above that he could see, and none on the floor. If the elevator stopped halfway through the journey, he'd never make an escape.

He tried his communicator and found nothing but static to come from the other end, he remembered that Kitty had warned him they wouldn't work if he went underground. He wondered how far down he'd gone? It seemed irrelevant now. He may as well go all the way. _All the trouble I caused lately, might as well be goin' t' hell, _he thought bitterly.

The elevator came to a shuddering halt, and the doors opened with a soft '_sssshtt'._

He'd arrived.

* * *

**End of Part 44**

* * *

Yeah, it's obvious, writing action sequences are _not_ my forte! Still, I tried and that's all that matters (to me, I guess). Yikes, we're so close to the end now. Can't believe we're finally here! Can't wait to hear all your thoughts :)


	45. Part 45

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 45**

**Confrontation**

* * *

Sinister's laboratory was like nothing Remy had ever seen before. He'd thought the place upstairs had been his lab, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing compared to the high tech gadgets, the impressive span of computers, and machines, the size of plasma screen displays, of wires and hoses, and displays of impressive looking equipment that Remy was sure even the top scientists in the world had never seen before.

Sinister was standing at the back of the lab, holding a tablet upon which he was swiping and pressing buttons with eerie precision and expertise. Remy glanced around quickly, hoping to see Rogue there somewhere, but she was not there.

"I've come for her, Sinister," Remy mustered up the courage to speak, despite he felt the lurch of fear in his stomach just to be in this bastard's presence. What _was_ it about this guy? He couldn't explain it. He truly was sinister, both in name and appearance.

"Have you?" Sinister asked, his voice cold, unfeeling. He turned and stared at Remy, his eyes were cold and dark, almost seemed to be black, like his hair which was slicked back, not a single hair out of place. He'd almost forgotten exactly how pasty the guy was, he could have passed for a corpse, had he been standing upright, and _speaking_.

"I have what you want," Remy said, his hand reaching into the pouch where he'd put the shards, "but first, I wan' t' see her."

"You are in no position to make demands to me, Remy LeBeau," said Sinister, his eyes seemed to flash, Remy thought he may have imagined it, or even _hallucinated it. _But this time, he felt that he hadn't. There had been an odd flash of red there. "The shards," Sinister held his hand out.

"I want Rogue," Remy warned.

"Then give me the shards," Sinister commanded.

Remy removed his hand from the pouch and he held the vial up into the air, "this? Y' wan' this? C' mon and take it then."

"Don't do something that you will regret," said Sinister, beginning to walk over, Remy saw the eyes flash again. The room wasn't swaying now, and he didn't feel that same dizzy way. The hallucinogenic properties had worn off...he _wasn't _imagining this.

"Give me Rogue, and you'll get them," Remy held the shards back.

Sinister took another few steps forward.

"You heard me! Where is Rogue?" Remy demanded.

With a pause, Sinister glanced up to the ceiling, and Remy released there was a thick glass cylinder up on the ceiling, held in place by two large pipes. The cylinder was full of a strange pale pink liquid and Rogue was floating within, her long brown and white hair swirling around. She seemed to be in some kind of suspended state, but all the same, he felt his blood run cold and his heart practically stop beating to see her that way.

That was all it took for Remy, in frustration and anger, he threw the vial of shards at the floor; the frail glass shattered and the glittering red particles spread across the floor, glimmering in the many lights around the laboratory.

"NO!" cried Sinister, his voice now was no longer just cold and unfeeling, it was like the sound of metal scraping metal mixed with the sound of fingernails on a blackboard. Remy's blood practically curdled at this, and before his eyes, he saw the man begin to change physically, growing almost a foot taller, his skin taking in the same silvery appearance that Piotr Rasputin's skin took on when he turned to his metal form.

Remy dodged just in time as Sinister threw out a blast; it seemed to have come from some kind of mechanism attached to the palm of his hand. The white hot beam narrowly missed him, but Remy felt the heat brush against his left cheek, he smelt the scent of burning hair. Sinister shot out blast after blast, and Remy dodged, rolled, twisted and threw himself out of the way. He didn't have anything to use as a projectile, and he no longer had his bo-staff.

"I'm disappointed in you," said Sinister, firing off another blast, scorching his once pristine laboratory floor. "You had great promise, Remy LeBeau. Had you been able to follow orders, and not been prone to letting yourself be _beaten."_

Remy waited for the next shot, standing poised, "everyone makes mistakes, that's what makes us _human_."

"Humanity is _done,_" Sinister shot off another beam at Remy, another incredibly narrow miss that just grazed the edge of Remy's thigh, which had it not been clad in padded leather, would have definitely been burned down to the muscle.

"You and Magneto should start a club," Remy uttered, his eyes quickly roved the countertops, in a desk tidy he saw a handful of pencils and he grabbed them quickly and charged them up. "Here's some pencils," he yelled, "draw yourself up some recruitment ads!"

One by one he fired them like darts and watched them hit the bastard, exploding on impact with impressive force, throwing the guy back several feet each time one hit. When the sixth – and final – pencil had hit, Remy stood and gaped at the image of Sinister, who was mostly in tact, apart from strange looking dents that looked like someone had been firing high-grade bullets into thick sheet metal. Then, to Remy's surprised, the dents began to _heal_ rather quickly, until there was no evidence of there ever being damage there at all.

"Oh shit..." Remy whispered.

"You cannot kill me," said Sinister, "If you fire anything at me, I will regenerate. Your blasts do nothing to me. You have no chance here but to accept defeat. You do not know who it is you face!" he threw his arms out, firing off double blasts at the cajun, the floor shook and the tiles scorched where he narrowly missed.

"I dunno what all the fuss is about," Remy retorted as he slyly glanced up to where Rogue was still in the overhead cylindrical tank. "Not like y' ain' gonna pick up the pieces," Remy stated, "get a lil' dust pan, sweep up the shards," he flipped, into the air, avoiding another blast.

"My plans will go ahead, with or _without_ your assistance," Sinister hissed, "the only difference it makes, is that when the time comes, _you _will learn what _real pain is._"

Remy threw one last glance up to the cylinder, with a running jump, he launched himself off the top of a counter top, and hoped to god that he'd judged the distance accurately as Sinister shot off another blast. It worked. The beam grazed his shoulder, and he cried out as it burned, but what _did _miss hitting him sailed past and instantly hit the tank: The cylinder immediately shattered, a burst of water falling from the ceiling and Rogue's unconscious body slapping onto the wet floor like a newly caught fish. Remy landed beside her, clutching his arm in pain. It felt like it was on fire.

"No!" Sinister yelled, furious. Remy wasn't sure how he did it, but somehow, the metallic hulk had managed to immediately teleport himself right to where he and Rogue were, and within an instant, Sinister's foot was on his chest, pressing him down. Sinister had his hand held out, and the small contraption in the centre of his palm was glowing bright white as the next shot charged.

"Hey, Sinister!"

Remy and Sinister _both_ turned to see Scott summers had come from the doors leading out of the elevator. Sinister probably never knew what hit him, as one of Scott's optic blasts landed right in the centre of his chest. The force of this caused Sinister to instantly stagger back, his foot releasing Remy. There was a loud shriek of frustration and pain as Sinister put his hands to his chest; the optic blast had left a massive gaping hole that seemed to be melting.

Remy had never been so glad in his life to see Scott Summers as he was right at that moment. "Do it again!"

Scott, his face full of determination, put a hand to his visor and shot off another blast, and another at Sinister, watching it leave gaping holes in his shoulder, and his stomach.

"Again!" Remy yelled, he pulled himself up, trying to ignore the pain. He took Rogue up into his arms and examined her face, he wasn't sure she was breathing or not. "Rogue, c'mon, wake up..." he shook her gently.

Optic beam after optic beam Scott fired, and the more he did, the more Sinister began to melt, liquid silver was trickling from his wounds onto the floor, spilling across the tiles and travelling along the gaps, down into a drain.

"NOOOOOO!" cried Sinister helplessly, he tried to fire at Scott, but Scott's beams simply met with his blasts and overpowered them, forcing the bastard back even further. Soon, he was nothing more than a melted silver puddle on the floor, disappearing down into the nearby drain.

Remy shuddered, watching the last of the silver liquid vanishing.

"I..." Scott suddenly trembled as he stood there gaping at what he'd done, "I killed him."

"It was no less than he deserved," Remy shook Rogue, "Rogue, c'mon..."

Rogue's lifeless body was pale, her wet hair plastered to her head, her lashes seeming to caress her white cheeks.

"Is she-"

"I don't know," Remy shakily put his bare hand upon her cheek and waited, for the first time truly _hoping_ that he'd feel that odd sensation of his very essence being drained, as if he were being pulled inside out. And it was nothing.

"Put her in the recovery position," Scott jogged over and dropped to his knees.

"I don't know the recovery position! D' y' think I had time t' take CPR classes while I was robbin' people blind?" Remy demanded, frantic.

Scott lay her back upon the floor, tilting her head back. Before doing anything else, he put his head against her chest, and waited a moment. "Her heart is hardly beating."

"She's so cold..." Remy held his hands against her cheeks, "she's so weak...her powers ain' drainin' mine...I should be dead...for gods sake, Cyke...do _somethin'_."

Scott went about administering CPR, while Remy watched feeling completely helpless. "Come on, Rogue," he kept saying as he compressed her chest, "come on."

_C'mon, Rogue, c'mon. Don' do this t' me. Don' you dare die. We've come this far. We've got through it. Y' jus' need t' live!_ Remy thought desperately at her. Remy watched as Scott's lips met with Rogue's to breathe life into her and he felt a mix of shame that he'd never learned to do this, and absurdly found himself thinking that it was no wonder Rogue had always admired the guy. In that rare moment of realisation, he couldn't help but be thankful that it was _Scott Summers_ who had chosen to come fight by his side, to take down his enemy, and to help save the girl he loved.

With a sudden gasp and burst of coughing, Rogue shot up from where she lay, her eyes bugging and pink, spluttering as she tried to catch her breath. Remy caught his arm behind her back, and held her up, feeling surges of extreme emotion bubbling towards the surface. He held back tears as he swept her hair from her face, sighing in relief. "It's okay, Chere. It's okay. Y' gon' be fine..."

"Remy?" she spluttered.

"Sssh. It's all over now, chere. It's all over."

* * *

**End of Part 45**

* * *

Omg, I can't believe it, just ONE more part to put up and I'm done with Blind Leading the Blind. I can't wait to see what you all think of the conclusion, so hang tight! :)


	46. Part 46

**BLIND LEADING THE BLIND**

**Part 46**

**Cleaning the Slate**

* * *

The flight back to Bayville was a long and tiring one, and for the majority of it, Rogue had slept through it, wedged between Remy and Scott in the small cockpit of the Red Eye. Remy glanced out over the horizon, it so unbelievably bright and blue as morning had come and the sun had risen. The world had never looked so beautiful, or new as it did at that moment.

His thoughts drifted to the fight, to the dozens of soldiers who would have black eyes, broken arms, twisted knees and swollen lips. And he thought of Sinister, as he'd melted into a puddle of silver liquid and disappeared into a drain, to be carried off with any other laboratory liquids that ended up only god knows where.

But was that _really_ the end? Was he really dead?

"Y' think Sinister is really dead?" Remy asked after a moment.

"I don't know, I think so," Scott said unhappily, "I mean...I don't _want _to have been responsible for the murder of the guy," he admitted. "To be honest...It makes me feel sick inside knowing what I've done."

"He had t' die. He was dangerous. There was no way about it."

"I know that."

"Still. He...could have survived."

"He melted. How many people do you know can pull themselves back together after melting into liquid?" Scott pointed out.

"I don't know; we've both met a lot of mutants in our time, probably quite a few able t' do it."

"I don't want to think about this any more. We got out of there, we got Rogue, and we're safe. All that matters."

"What about those shards though? I mean...if he _did _survive, he's gon' pick each one up piece by piece until he has 'em all t' do whatever he gon' do with them."

Scott threw a glance in Remy's direction, "it's red glitter."

"Pardon?"

"You think the Professor was going to allow the _real_ shards into a plane with you and me? We'd have killed each other before we even got to Genosha."

"So they were fake all a long?"

"I don't know where they are now, but Sinister definitely hasn't got them."

"How come y' didn' let me in on this before we got there?" Remy demanded, slightly offended that he hadn't been in on the plan.

"You had to believe they were real for Sinister to believe they were real," Scott explained. "I know you're a good liar...hell, I know you're a _great_ liar...but I don't think you could have bluffed so well under the circumstances. Especially if the shards had been messing with you along the way."

"I s'pose y' right," Remy admitted reluctantly. "And here I was thinkin' everything I said on the plane there was jus' the shards makin' me wan' say them."

"No. That was just your conscience. Turns out you have one after all."

"Fancy that," Remy rolled his eyes, then turned his attention to the view again. "Never seen the sunrise like this before," he admitted, momentarily his eyes fell upon Rogue, who was sleeping soundly with her head upon his shoulder, her face was still pale although her cheeks were slightly pink. He felt slightly sad that she wasn't awake to share the moment with him. Especially since it was his first _proper _sunrise since his sight had returned.

"It's a new day, Gambit," said Scott after a moment of reflection. "And with a new day, comes a new beginning."

"You get'n' all philosophical on me now?" Remy asked, smirking slightly.

"You know what I'm saying, LeBeau," Scott said, piloting idly, he looked tired.

"I don't, actually," Remy admitted, "Y' see...I hardly know you _really_, so I dunno what way t' take such a suggestion."

"It's not your style to play coy," Scott commented. "But if you want me to spell it out for you, what I'm saying is _maybe_ you should try to start fresh, with a clean slate."

Remy thought about this, "I don't know how easy it'd be t' try and clean my slate. I'd probably need more than soapy water. Maybe even more than bleach. My slate might be too dirty t' really be totally clean."

"Well, reasonably clean might do," Scott suggested. "Taking off the surface grime may do."

"How much grime are we talkin'?"

"Hmm," Scott said thoughtfully, "well. The swearing, the smart-assed comments, the insolence, the insubordination, the lying, the sneaking, the thieving..."

"All the biggies," Remy remarked.

"They'd all have to go."

"I don't know if I can completely clean _all_ of it. I mean...a lot of that stuff is jus' who I am. I can't jus'...get rid of who I am...especially not jus' because it's a new day."

"How much _can_ you get rid of for a new day?"

Remy considered this, "maybe the sneakin'?"

"How about you get rid of the sneaking today. And tomorrow, we can work on getting rid of the _lying_? And then the next day the insolence..."

"And so on, so forth?" Remy raised an eyebrow.

"Something like that," Scott shrugged.

"It's a lot t' think over," Remy admitted. "So...y' sayin' y' would _have me_ on the team?"

"It's not completely up to me, you know," Scott reminded, "it's up to the Professor, and the other instructors if they want to have you with us, and train you, and _invest_ in your future as an X-Man. But...yeah, after what I saw today...you'd be an asset to the team."

"And what about me and you?" Remy pointed out, "it's obvious we struggle t' get along."

"Most team leaders don't get along with _everyone_ on their team," Scott reminded, "you think I don't argue with everyone on the team from time to time? It happens. When you're the one who has to make the decisions and give orders, there's always going to be someone who you don't get long with and don't agree with."

"Yeah, but those aren't _personal_ problems," Remy stared out of the window.

"We've made a break through," Scott reasoned, "you admitted you were wrong. I'll admit, I took a stupid shot and it nearly cost you permanent blindness. We both did stupid stuff. We're both sorry, right?"

"Right," Remy admitted, to admit being sorry and wrong still seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but he couldn't deny he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders to admit it all the same.

"Then we can just move on now. We shouldn't _have_ any more personal issues. We established what's what."

"What if we do?" Remy pointed out, "Jus' 'cause we're get'n' along so well here now don' mean that tomorrow we're gon' be the best of friends."

"We'll...work at it. I'm willing to, if you are. So stick around and work at it...if you have the _balls_ that is," Scott smirked.

"Oh, I got the balls," Remy retorted quickly, "but do _you?_"

"Oh, I definitely have the balls," Scott responded, "I just wanted to make sure you did."

"Don' you worry 'bout my balls, 'cause I'm speakin' from experience, and I've definitely used mine more than you used yours, and I'm tellin' y' right now, one-eye. I got the balls. I ain' goin' nowhere."

Remy smirked as he stared out of the window, and he slipped his arm around Rogue as she slept soundly next to him. Despite whatever Scott may have thought at that moment, Remy felt oddly confident that what he had said, he meant. "Thanks, by the way," he said quietly, half in a mumble.

Scott glanced at him, "for?"

"For bein' the one to come, f' takin' down Sinister when I couldn'. I couldn' have saved Rogue on my own. We both know that. I know doin' what the X-Men do is sometimes a thankless task so...thanks."

Scott seemed a little stunned, but all the same, he replied, "you're welcome."

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

Woo! I'm so very pleased to have finally finished this (very long) fanfic. I appreciate the people who took the time to review, and who enjoyed it enough to stick with it and kept checking back. I hope you all enjoy the ending (and I hope that you all feel there's enough closure). I'm off now for a rest (and to go back to working on the three other stories I have lined up, lol). Love you all, thanks for sticking with me! It's been a very long year, phew!


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